#i mean their love language is murder so it's bound to get a little messy but still. if i stepped over any line please tell me ;; | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

donutloverxo · 4 years ago

Text

Tainted

*gifs not mine*

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - this is inspired by a hc @sweater-daddiesdumbdork once wrote me and gave me a frigging murder kink. Life ruiner😡😡

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - Steve saves you and plans on never letting you go again.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), kidnappings, being held hostage, murder, blood, non descriptive violence, captain kink, slight murder kink.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 6.8k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

One of the most amazing thing about living with you was that Steve never had to come home to an empty house. He was now responsible for you, he’d have to shoot you a text message, he had gotten pretty good at texting, thanks to your guidance, or call you, he definitely liked calling and hearing your voice better. He’ll always be old school.

You’d get that slight waver in your voice as you tried to pretend that you weren’t sad, he could see your cute little pout through the phone. And while he would never want to cause you any sort of pain, knowing that you’d be waiting for him, that you’re missing him when he’s away, made him feel wanted.

That even someone like him deserved love and happiness and a safe, boring life. That may be there was a reason he died only to wake up again in a strange new world.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t come with your own set of challenges. You were messy if anything, leaving clutter everywhere and putting off doing your dishes and laundry for days. Maybe not the most practical but definitely the cutest roommate in the world.

He’d learn to put up with it because it was worth it. Maybe, he could even learn to 'let loose' a little as people always recommended to him.

At first, he couldn’t wait to ask you to marry him. He had even impulsively bought a ring with your birthstone, he knew you were obsessed with them and astrology and maybe even dark magic. But then you surprised him with a date to an old diner and introduced him as your boyfriend to your friends.

He liked your friends quite a lot, he couldn’t really understand what they were talking about half the time. From what he could tell - by their fascination with his muscles and all the touching and squeezing to his biceps, them wanting to hear about his life before the ice - it seemed that they liked him too.

But hearing you call him that, your guy, your boyfriend, your beau, as your friend Stacey had put it, he decided that he wasn’t quite ready to let go of this blissful courting period. He was rushing things.

He needed to live in the moment and just enjoy being your boyfriend for now, he had all the time in the world to wife you up - preferably not to late though.

He was so unbelievably happy, ecstatic to see you, to surprise you, his mission ending a week early he got home as soon as he could. He thought of maybe taking you to Vermont for the weekend, he had never been but Nat told him it’d be a nice little getaway and that you’d love it.

His wide smile slowly fade away as he looked at the state of his door - the latch broken. Forced entry. Somebody broke his door in. He pushed the door wide open and made his way in.

He knew what was to come next but he willed that thought away. Maybe you kicked it in yourself, maybe you forgot your keys. He kept telling himself that because he was terrified of thinking the alternative.

He stepped in as soon as he was able to shake himself out of his haze. Looking at the state of his, and your, apartment. A broken vase, and the coffee table smashed in.

Crouching down to take a closer look he saw some blood on the ceramic. Whoever did this to your home, better hope that it’s wasn’t yours.

He got up, directing his simmering rage towards his new mission. He didn’t panic, not yet, he couldn’t give himself that kind of luxury. His mind coming up with ten different to find you and make the bastards who did this pay.

NOBody can hurt the people he loves, especially his girl, and get away with it.

***

Your eyes fluttered open before scrunching shut to adjust to the harsh fluorescent light. You blinked, looking around you while squinting.

Some sort of empty grey room... a window to the side but it was dark outside. You dress sticking to your skin as your whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Three men in a corner, one for them shouting at the others in a foreign language.

You felt a yip of pain radiating in your arms and then realised they were tied up behind you - strapped to a creaky chair.

You tried to shake free of them, by wiggling your wrists but then winced at the burn it caused, capturing the attention of your kidnappers.

One of them smiled at you, walking towards you.

“Finally awake, are we?” he asked in an abnormally chirpy way. “You were out for quiet some time. Did you sleep well?”

He squatted before you, you could see his face, his cold grey eyes betraying the warm smile that graced his lips. Many white scars littered over his jaw...

And then you remembered.

How you rushed home when you felt someone was following you. Locking the door, you tried to call Steve but couldn’t get through to him.

And then your stalker broke into your home. You tried to smash his head in with a vase but couldn’t really do any real damage. Everything was hazy after that. Maybe he drugged you - you couldn’t recall.

You exhaled shakily when you realised he was watching you both from the corner. You could never forget his dark hoodie and hair. Or fresh cut on his forehead. You had never so much as hurt a fly or even slapped anyone. How you managed to smash his head in you’ll never know.

You looked at the man before you again when you heard him calling out your name, his smile haltered for a moment as he looked back to your stalker.

“I’m sorry about that, he’s a rookie. He’ll be reprimanded soon enough. This wasn’t exactly our plan but we’ve decided to improvise.”

You tried to speak but with your throat and mouth dry and your mind in shock the words wouldn’t come out.

“Oh, that’s alright, don’t struggle. We don’t want anything to do with you, you’re just a normal plain Jane going about your life, aren’t you?”

You could only give him a weak nod, still trying your best to shake yourself free of your bounds without him noticing.

“That’s right. You haven’t done anything wrong, you don’t deserve to have anything bad happen to you, do you?”

You nodded again. Your breath hitched when he got closer to you, in your face, his hands planted on your bare thighs with your skirt pooled just below your hips.

“But we don’t always get what we deserve. You’re close to the Captain, that’s right Michael’s told me all about how taken he is with you. I mean... I never would’ve imagined Captain America would pick someone like you but to each their own,” he cupped your cheek, the cracks in his palm harsh against your soft skin.

“What do you want?” you asked, not looking away from him.

“I want justice. For things to be in the right order. You’ll have to suffer for it, but know that it’s for a good cause.”

“You’re wrong,” you shook your head, “he’ll come for me.”

“We’re counting on that,” he snickered.

You’re not sure what came over you, all you knew was that you wanted his disgusting hands off of you, “He’ll come for me, and then you’ll regret ever touching me.”

“Uh, I don’t know about this,” you pulled on a thread from your skirt with your right hand, your other hand in Steve’s as he held onto your waist, pulling you into his side. “It’ll be inside me?” you shuddered.

“Yes, but,” Bruce scratched his head, he was adorable like that. You never would’ve imagined him to be the hulk, a 'rage monster’. “it’s not as bad as you think. You won’t even feel it. All shield agents and Avengers have one. Except Thor, because that wouldn’t be of any use. The radius is only on earths surface. You would’ve thought that would be enough,” he chuckled.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, looking at the chip, smaller than an acrylic nail, watching Bruce load it up.

“I know it’s not ideal, doll. But I’ll feel much better knowing I can find you, in case something goes wrong.” He kissed your temple, as you braced yourself.

“Will it hurt?” you gulped as Bruce lined the shooter or gun, by the looks of it, to your forearm.

“Just a little. You’ll barely feel it.” He gave you a sympathetic smile.

“Look at me, pup,” Steve gripped your chin, moving your head till you looked into his blue eyes, he pressed his lips to yours, massaging your tongue with his to distract you.

“Mm,” you winced and moaned into his mouth when you felt the piercing pain. It was like getting a flu shot but you had never having been a huge fan of needles either.

He released his hold on you as Bruce worked on cleaning your the blood seeping through your pierced skin. “You did good.” Steve said.

“Do I get a sucker?” You asked Bruce and he chuckled - as if you were joking, you do not joke about candy, “No I really want one.”

“Let’s keep this between us.” Steve told you both.

“Of course,” Bruce nodded, “I can keep tracker dormant till we need it but are you sure?”

“I’m not sure who I can trust.” But he knew he could trust his teammates.

You sniffled, keeping your tears at bay because really something so little shouldn’t make you cry, rubbing your hand over your wounded bicep as Bruce handed you some gummy bears.

“They’re Tony’s. He leaves snacks everywhere, it’s annoying.”

“Thank you.” You blinked up at him and offered some to Steve.

You never thought you’d need it. Until now, you were sure your friends or your mother would notice that you’ve been gone and Steve will find out and track you down. You knew he would. He had to.

He frowned, his nails digging into your cheekbones, pluckering your lips, “Where’s all that confidence coming from?” he quirked a curious brow up, “He’ll walk right in and pay for everything he’s done,” he snorted.

“You’re way underprepared to take someone like him on,” shut up, shut up, shut up, why the fuck are you egging him on? “He’s strong, he’s a survivor.” Even without the serum, he survived an abusive household, being bullied, being sick, and you knew how protective he could be. To the point where it was downright irritating.

“We’ve got all the time in the world to prepare, you should be worrying about yourself,” he spat.

You had always been bold, even in the most inappropriate of situations. Like when you lectured a boy for over an hour on respecting boundaries for throwing spitballs at you, in kindergarten. Steve even said that he fell for that ‘spunk' in you.

‘Well-behaved women rarely make history’ your mother had told you.

And really, you liked that about yourself as well. You liked that you found a man that would encourage that side of you instead of calling you ‘difficult’ or ‘bossy’.

However, you immediately regretted everything you had said. Not because it was untrue, but because your captor took out a sharp pocket knife, a dark glint in his eyes.

“We only need you alive,” he said as you gulped, “I suppose, it wouldn’t matter if you’re missing a finger or two.”

You frantically shook your head, choking on a sob. “No,” you pleaded, “you’ll... he will find me and you will - ”

“Go to prison at best. It’s a risk we’re all willing to take,” he put the blunt end of the knife against your cheek, “We have to do something to kill the time.”

You couldn’t breath, your heart hammering in your chest, what if he doesn’t come for you? You won’t be able to do anything about it. It wasn’t like you could protect yourself, at least in this situation, all you could do was wait for him.

You shut your eyes, and braced yourself for the pain. Except... it never came, you simply heard someone fall down, some sort of clattering sound.

Upon opening your eyes you saw one of his friends face down before your in the corner, the other guy, your lovely stalker, drawing out his gun, looking at the only window to your left. You swore you a saw a glimpse of a flying disk knocking your stalker out.

The man before you cursed under his breath, “Get. Up. Come on!” he ordered.

“Yeah, if I could do that I probably would’ve,” you snarked, still trying to get your aching wrists free.

You barely even registered - who could only be your Captain - sneaking up behind him, snapping his neck with his hands in a matter of seconds. He collapsed on the ground and you could finally see Steve.

His clenched jaw and cold eyes softened up on seeing you, you couldn’t help but let out a sob as you realised you were going to be free.

“You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he soothed you, kissing your forehead before swiftly free your hands.

You stood up on wobbly legs, holding onto his arms for support, “Steve,” you breathed out, “you came for me.”

“Of course I did,” he sighed, gently pushing your face against his chest as he hugged you close to him. “As if I’d ever abandon you,” he smoothed a hand over your back and decided to not dwell on your comment. This wasn’t about him, you were in shock.

“I was so scared,” you sniffled, “he said, he - ” you couldn’t even finish your sentence as you broke down in a fit of sobs and hiccups.

“You’re safe now,” he promised.

“You - did you kill him?” you pushed away from him to look up at his face so you could take him in.

You had never seen him in his uniform. Only ever seeing him on the news but he had his cowl on and a suit that was much more on brand for ‘Captain America’ than the darker one he had on now. It made him look bigger - if that was even possible. Bigger than the shield now strapped to his back.

His usually clean shaven face had the faintest shadow to it while his hair was slicked back. He looked beautiful, so soft and innocent, definitely not someone who’s capable of hurting anyone.

“He hurt you,” he replied, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your bruised wrists, “and so many others, he got what was coming to him.”

“You knew him?”

“Yes. He got away the last time we tried to catch him - but we don’t have to talk about that right now. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

You shook your head, “No, I’m just thirsty and I really want to lay down,” you murmured, resting your head on the star in the middle of his chest.

He pressed a hand to his ear, letting his team know that he had found you. You vaguely saw agents clad in black gear storm the room.

“We did a sweep of the place. No one else is here,” Natasha said. “How you doing?” and then frowned when you didn’t respond.

“She’s tired. It’s okay, love,” he kissed your temple, snaking a hand under your knees and picking you up with ease.

You weakly nodded, wrapping your hands around his neck, glad to be babied by him because you didn’t have the strength to stand.

“They didn’t give you anything to eat?” Nat scoffed as you shook your head.

“How long have I been here?” you looked at Steve, struggling to stay awake.

“A day and a half. We’ll get you fixed up,” he swore, carrying you towards the quinget.

“Where are we?” you nuzzled your nose against the rough kevlar of his suit.

“Bermuda,” he said.

“Oo, I’ve always wanted to come here... just maybe not like this,” you chuckled but Steve didn’t find it all that amusing. You cupped his cheek in your palm, hoping to maybe calm him down a bit before falling asleep.

***

You vaguely heard a familiar voice calling out your name, you’d recognise it anywhere, it was one of your favorites, one you’d known your entire life.

“Mom?” you muttered, opening your eyes and looking around the room to look for her. You smiled when you saw her sitting on a chair just beside your bed, the faint, annoying beeping told you that you were probably in a hospital.

“Hey there, honey,” she smiled back at you, her eyes misty as she pressed her lips to your cheek. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“I’m sorry,” you tried to sit up as she fluffed your pillow up to support you. “I was... um... kidnapped.” Saying it out loud made it feel so ridiculous. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought.

“Yes, Steve filled us in on everything. So, Captain America, huh?” she raised her brows.

“Yeah,” you chuckled nervously. Doing a once over to your large, mostly white room to look for him. He wouldn’t just up and leave you, would he?

“How long has it been going on?” she asked.

“Um, three or four months?” you winced when you realised just how much trouble you were in.

“And, you live with him. Linda filled us in on everything. You’re quitting your job too now.”

“It’s - it’s not as bad as it sounds...”

“Never mind that, you need to rest. Then you won’t have to worry about all this. I’m taking you home with me. And you’re never coming back here again.”

“What? No! I still have over two years of school left.”

“You can do it online! You can find just as a good a job in Queens.”

“No! I’m not coming,” you whined.

“Well, you’re not living with a man you barely know either.”

You were interrupted by a knock on the door. A doctor entering, apologising for disturbing you and Steve right behind her. He still hadn’t changed out of his suit.

He stood at the end of your bed, squeezing your foot to let you know he was there for you as your mother glared daggers at him.

“Looks like you’re doing good. Blood sugars back to normal as well...” the doctor said, “You’re free to go home.”

“Really?” you smiled. So done with everything. Sleeping in your own bed sounded like heaven.

“Yes, let us know if you need anything.” She looked over your chart again and then left.

“Good then, you can come home now.”

“No! I’m going to my apartment in Manhattan, the one I share with Steve.” You rolled your eyes. Pleading Steve to back you up with your eyes.

He cleared his throat, “Um, ma'am, you can come stay with us, if you like.”

He held your mothers gaze, to let her know that he was serious and earnest.

He knew he wasn’t perfect by any means. He had a million flaws and cuts that ran deeper than anybody would ever know but he always thought, or maybe arrogantly assumed, that if nothing else he was someone ‘you take home to mama’ as Clint had once put it. He thought that your parents, like most, would like him. That he’d easily get their blessing to be with their daughter. He was known to be America’s golden boy after all.

But your mother had ripped him a new one as soon as she saw him. Accusing him of abusing his power to woo you. That you were here because of him. That he’s not worthy of you.

And all he could do was stand there and take it because everything she had said was the truth. He didn’t deserve you, you were captured and possibly traumatised because of him.

At the same time, he couldn’t just let you go. Not till he gets to the bottom of who had hurt you and makes sure that you’re safe from now on.

“No, thank you.” She scoffed, looking back at you and shaking her head. “What are you doing with your life?”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes but being with Steve definitely isn’t one,” you looked over to him, he looked just as tired as you, “I just want to go home. My home with Steve.”

“Fine, I’ve always let you make your own decisions.” she sighed, finally giving in.

“And I’ve never disappointed you.”

“That’s debatable,” she snorted, “I’ll come check on you tomorrow then. Maybe send me your address. You know? Something you should’ve done months ago.” She returned to glaring at Steve.

“I’ve only been living with him for a month!” you tried to defend yourself.

***

“I can take off my own clothes, Stevie,” you giggled, him kneeling before you to help you out of the sweets the med bay gave you. Your dress was dirty and ragged now. “I really liked that dress though. I don’t have many like it. You think we can get it back?”

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do, doll,” he kissed your bare thigh before rolling your panties down your legs.

“You’re kinda dirty too,” you remarked, sniffing him. He didn’t smell bad, as if Steve would ever smell bad to you. Just a bit of gunpowder, like that of firecrackers, a bit pungent instead of his normal piney and woodsy scent.

“Thank you,” he deadpanned before cracking a smile, “I was just excited to see you. Or I would’ve showered before coming home and then I didn’t get a chance to.”

He worked on unbuttoning your shirt He insisted on you getting a button up instead of a t-shirt considering how sore your arms were from being toed up for so long. Tied up... like an animal.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, caressing his cheek, “come back to me.”

“Sorry, I’m just... I don’t know,” he shook his head. He couldn’t let you know the guilt and despair he felt, you’d end up comforting him instead of the other way around. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Yeah. Still can’t believe any of this was real.” Running your hands up and down his suit, the feel of the material almost soothing to touch. “You wanna shower with me?”

“Don’t know, doll. That showers pretty small.”

He did have a pretty generous salary but opted to live in a more modest apartment, he never took more than he needed anyway, with a small shower. Not too small, but definitely not big enough for you both.

“We’ll make do, come on. I’ll make you squeaky clean.”

He took over ten minutes to get rid of the suit. You watched intently as he removed more latches than you could count.

“Is it bulletproof?” you wanted to know.

“Yes. But probably not as good as a vest. I’ve never been shot so I wouldn’t know.” He answered, taking off his undershirt.

“It’s funny because I always thought y’all were naked under there,” you chuckled, and then your jaw dropped as he took off his briefs.

You had never seen his cock while it was soft before. He was always more than excited when you got to him. It was amazing how pretty he looked either way.

“You and so many other people,” he almost shuddered at the thought of having been asked the same question so many times.

After making sure the water was hot enough, you both stood under it.

You took some of the lavender wash you had bought from lush, squeezing it on your sponge. Steve, bless him, was amazing at so many things. Shopping - it seemed was not one of them. All he had in his bathroom was a bar of soap, one toothbrush and a vintage straight razor.

Which just won’t do for you, so you took it upon yourself to stock the whole place up with your favorite stuff. The lavender being Steve’s favorite, you remembered how flustered you got when he told you that you smelled good. And then tried to explain that you always smell good while turning redder than a tomato.

You did his front, asking him to bent his neck a bit so you could wash his hair because he was almost a foot taller than you. You were about to do his legs, you’d take any excuse to feel up his thick thighs but he told you he’d do the rest himself.

Taking the sponge from you, he ran it under some water, working on cleaning you thoroughly. Under your arms, your breasts, your stomach, between your legs and then your legs.

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - he knew that since the moment he had met you. But something about washing you up like that felt so intimate even though there was nothing erotic about it.

After washing you thoroughly he wrapped you up in a towel, “My cute lil' burrito,” he booped your nose.

You puffed your cheeks out, you weren’t sure if you liked that nickname. Observing just how gentle he was with you, helping you into a cotton nightie, as opposed to drying himself off hastily and carelessly before pulling some sweats and briefs on.

“Don’t wear a shirt,” you pleaded, he looked amazing shirtless, but that wasn’t the only reason, you really liked feeling his skin on hours, pressing kissing on his perfect, smooth, golden skin, ”pretty please.” Right now, he’d give you anything you wanted and you intended on milking that as much as you can.

“Alright, doll,” he replied, pulling you up in his arms again as if you were his bride, as you giggled so sweetly, “now, what would you like to eat? No take out, it has to be healthy. And remember my culinary skills are limited,” he said, carrying you to the living room and putting you on the couch as he started working in the kitchen.

“Stevie, I’m not hungry. Well, that’s not true, I’d like some ice cream,” fluttering your lashes at him, “Mint chocolate chip? I’m pretty sure we have some.”

“Of course, puppy,” you smiled, at the prospect of getting a sweet treat and the nickname, “as soon as you eat something.” He added and you huffed in annoyance.

He whipped up a sandwich for you, two for him because he was starving, some peach iced tea so you wouldn’t eat his ear off while complaining.

You only picked at your food, giving more than half of it to him. You truly didn’t feel like eating, instead craving some cuddles with him.

You tried striking up a conversation with him multiple times. Not because you didn’t like silence. You did when it came to him, you could go hours without talking and it would feel so serene and perfect. You never had to talk just for the sake of it when you were with him.

But you had come to read Steve pretty well. He seemed distant and closed off. The air around you both thick with tension. You tried to ease it while telling him about how brave you were while quitting and didn’t cry at all, how Tony dropped by and was apparently stalking you - which was a bad idea because it seemed to make him angry, clench his jaw tight, his brows furrowed as he placed your plates in the sink.

Unsure if you had done something wrong or were mean to Tony, who was technically his boss, you twiddled with your fingers, “Um... I - I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying to hold back tears. Spending the night at your mom’s house sounded like the better choice now.

“Hm?” he looked back at you, he could do the dishes tomorrow, “what for?”

“I shouldn’t have been snarky with Tony. I know he’s your boss and all that but he’s kinda cocky... And I got really mad when I found out he did like a ‘background check' on me. I mean I get why he would but still. I can apologize to him.”

“No no,” he shook his head, kneeling before you, taking your hands in his, “you misunderstood, love. I’m not mad at you, I could never REALLY be mad at you. It’s Tony I’m angry with, he went behind my back, ambushed you at work.”

“To be fair, you did the same when you asked me out,” you snickered as a blush crept up his neck.

“Right.” He finally cracked a genuine smile placing feather light kisses on your knuckles and the to the bandages on your hands.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you asked, running your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails.

“It’s probably better if we don’t talk about it,” he said, laying his head on your lap. Your slight scratching massaging his never-resting head.

“I think we should. My mom said I don’t know you. And to some extent, she is right. I don’t. Maybe I’m just imagining things but... sometimes it feels like you’re holding back.”

He gathered enough courage to look up at you, your almond shaped eyes looking down at his and he knew that he could talk to you about anything. He did. But there will always be that little voice that tells him that he shouldn’t. He would only trouble you.

“Don’t you pride yourself on being honest?” you caressed his scratchy cheek.

He snorted. He really was dense enough to think he was the perfect son-in-law package.

“I just, the way you looked at me, when I killed that man, I’m afraid that you’re scared of me now. That’s the last thing I want. It’s my worst nightmare really.” He leant into your touch.

“Steve, that wasn’t because I’m scare of you. It was because I’m fond of you. You were so strong and brave and you saved me. I liked being the damsel in distress more than I thought,” He chuckled at that, his doubts a bit relieved, “that’s... not all though.” You murmured.

“What is it?” he wanted to know.

“You, um, the fact that you would do that for me... it’s just. I never thought anyone would love me that much.”

“I only regret doing it in front of you. I’m sorry you had to see that or go through any of that.”

“I’m not a child, Steve,” you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not, but you’re you. You’re pure and an angel. I - I’m tainted - tainted by blood, tainted by war - ”

“Steve, that’s not true. You’re not, you’re the pure-est person I know. War and - that doesn’t define you.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew about all the things I have done, sweetheart.” The sweet nickname he had for you, which now he used in a patronising tone, “I let my best friend die. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“What’re you talking about?” you frowned. You heard about Bucky from him and your history textbooks but you don’t remember reading anything like that.

“It’s... something I’m not ready to get into.” He put his forehead on your knee. He knew you loved him but there was only so much baggage you would be willing to accept.

“Okay. You can take your time and tell me if and when you’re ready, baby.” You went back to idly playing with his, “But I need you to know that I love you. Nothing you could ever say will change that. To think that... for a second I thought that you wouldn’t come for me.”

He snapped his head back up, “What?”

“I thought, that you’d be busy with your mission. You wouldn’t even find out I was missing or... you just wouldn’t care enough to come yourself. I mean, I knew you would come, obviously. But you have other more important work...”

“No,” he shook his head, “How could you ever think anything's more important to me than you and your life?”

“Yeah, I was being stupid.”

“You can be a bit silly sometimes, doll.” He nuzzled your tummy, making you giggle. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again. I was so scared I’d never see you again,” he confessed against your nightgown.

“That’d be a bit hard to do. Keeping an eye on me like that. But if it means I get to spend more time with you then I’m down.”

You convinced Steve to let you have some ice cream. He only let you have half a scope, telling you that you’d have trouble sleeping otherwise.

“I’ve been sleeping for most of the last two days.” You tried to argue but it was hard to change his mind once he had it set on something.

You both brushed your teeth together and he stared at you as you went about your night-time skincare routine.

Cleanse, serum, moisturize, sleep mask.

All he did was wash his face and he still looked fucking perfect.

He stayed true to his word, sticking by your side to the point where you had to kick him outside to have some privacy to pee in peace. He was right there waiting for you when you opened the door.

Finally, you were in your cosy bed. Light’s off and cuddled tight with your boyfriend. Your stuffed unicorn and your Captain America plushie to your other side.

With your legs tangled together, you rubbed your feet up and down his legs. Which were unfortunately covered with his sweats.

“Steve,” you whined.

“Yes?”

“Take off these damn pants. They’re hurting my skin. So friggin' prickly.”

“Sorry, doll. I know how precious your skin is.” He sounded like he was mocking you but he followed, pushing his pants away.

“Good?” he asked holding you close to him again.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed against his naked chest. “Let’s sleep like this everyday, please.”

“Sure.” He replied. He liked being a ‘human furnace' for you.

He wasn’t going to fall asleep. Not after everything that happened. He hadn’t slept well in the past week but he was afraid that if he’d shut his eyes for a single moment and you’d be gone. This time, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to find you.

He hadn’t been to crunch or even prayed in a while. Losing his faith a long time ago after all the terrible things he had seen. But he had prayed when he came back found his home to be wreck. He prayed that you’d come back to him because there were some things he just could not control. Nobody could.

After a while he lowly whispered your name. “Are you awake?” he asked.

It was silly but he missed you. Even though you were laying right next to him in his arms - the safest place you could be.

“Yeah. I can’t sleep. Even though I’m so tired.” You yawned. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” You snorted. “You’re not a good liar, Steven.”

“Can I ask you something? And you can say no if you want I won’t mind.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Can I, um, have you? I just need to feel you, sweetheart. After everything – I need to know you’re really here.” he was cut off by your lips crashing on his.

You winced when your teeth clamped together but he soothed your upper lip by nipping at it with his tongue.

“Steve,” you panted as he broke awake, shifting under the sheets and pushing the helm of your gown up.

He placed quick open mouthed kisses all over your thighs, over your stretch marks, spreading your thighs further to accommodate his broad shoulders, he made sure to check in with you again.

All you did was push his head towards your heat, begging him to eat your pussy - as if he needed to be told twice.

Swirling and spreading your glistening juices of arousal around your weeping lips, he dove in for his prize. Drawing patterns on your bundle of nerves before sucking at it harshly, he plunged his tongue inside. Lacing his fingers with yours and pinning your hands down by your hips.

You kept desperately pushing your hips up, wanting more. Arching your back up and holding onto his hands tightly as he lightly grazed his teeth over your clit.

“Say my name, sweetheart,” he demanded against your heat, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

Your orgasm washing over you in waves, electrifying every nerve in your body as you clamped your legs around his head, holding onto him.

He kept lapping you up through it, taking everything you’d give him.

He loved worshipping you - spending as much time as he could between your legs - because you were his goddess but right now, he just needed to feel you.

He climbed up the bed, hovering over you, he pushed two thick fingers inside you mouth till the second knuckle.

“Get them nice and wet, doll.” He instructed.

You moaned around him, making loud suckling noises, “Yesh, Captain,” it came out muffled, what with your mouth full.

“Captain?” he smirked. You had only ever called him that as a joke, he never knew being called that in a salacious way could stroke a fire inside him. Making him them painfully hard in the confines of his tight briefs. He pulled his fingers out of you, pushing his hand down till it was between your legs. Nudging your entrance with them.

“Sorry, it slipped out.” You were too unabashed to feel guilty.

He scoffed, “Say it again.”

Pushing his fingers inside you. Pumping them at a fast pace before you even had a second to think. It was desperate and fast so unlike how it is usually between you both. He needed to be inside you but your needs would always come before his.

“Captain,” you mewled, chewing on your lower lip and holding onto his face. You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you still need to look at him. “I told them my Captain would come for me. And you did...” he swallowed your screams with his mouth as you clenched around his fingers.

“That’s right,” he groaned, sucking your slick off of his fingers, “I’ll always protect you. I’ll do anything for you.”

Shaky fingers working on taking his cock out of the hard confines of his uncomfortable underwear. He didn’t waste a single second before sinking inside you, as deep as he could. He moaned into your neck, “So fucking tight, doll. Like you were made for me,” he bit your neck.

Drawing his hips back he thrusted inside you, brushing against your g-spot, making you keen.

He stopped immediately, propping himself up on his elbows he looked down at your hooded eyes. “You alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded, “Yes, it’s just so good,” as if to prove it you clenched around his length, to make him feel all of you just as he was doing to you.

He groaned at that, his balls already tightening, aching for release, “What’s the safe word?”

“Mm... buttercream.”

“That’s right, good girl,” he cooed as you whimpered at his praise as he withdrew his hips again, loving you in a slow soft way.

Pushing your gown up till it was above your breasts - he didn’t really have the patience to properly take it off. He sucked a spot just above your breast, so you’d remember his love every time you looked at it. Your nipples pebbled and goose bumps painted your skin, with your cunt tight around him he knew you were close.

Wrapping his mouth around one bud, He pulled and pinched at the other. He stopped his ministrations, he needed to look at you as you climaxed. To know that you needed him at least half as much as he needed you.

Your face scrunched up as you met your bliss, your nails drawing blood from shoulders - not that he cared in the slightest.

His hips retracting and thrusting as he lost all sense of rhythm and finesse chasing his end as you laid boneless beneath him. He kept fucking into you, filling you to the brim.

He heaved above you, making sure not to collapse on top of you. Reluctantly he pulled himself out of you.

Pulling you close to him, his lips pressed up against the crown of your head, he whispered sweet nothings to you. “My brave girl.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’re so strong, sweetheart.”

“Stronger than the hulk?”

“Yes, definitely,” he replied, tracing the bandages wrapped around your wrists. “Now try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll sleep alright. Thanks to you.” You giggled.

***

tags will be in the reblog.

this was my longest fic!i know it wasnt the best conclusion to something i drew outover 4 chapters but its the best i could do. sorry for weird format tumblrs mad i had too much fun lol. comments and reblogs are really appreciated!!

#the donut series #steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #berry writes

920 notes · View notes

jeonqqin · 4 years ago

Text

man up. [m] | pt. 6

h. jisung x reader | netflix rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNING: language, eventual smut, heated kissing, minor groping, a wee bit of angst

A/N: sorry this one was late... like all the others. but hey you can’t blame me for trying lmao

▸ request

CHAPTERS: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

—UNEDITED

Your head began to spin as your eyes dropped to the text sent to you, the number attached to a name that you least expected. You would never admit to how fast your heart pulsed in your chest as you skimmed the words over and over. Had Jisung said anything to her about what happened?

Was she upset with you for sending her precious boyfriend into a panic attack?

Maybe you were walking straight into a bear trap but you couldn’t bring yourself to decline or ignore her message. The guilt of hurting Jisung was too fresh, so you had a hard time doing anything against him—and in a way, ignoring Hyunae’s messages was just that. You just hoped it wasn’t an elaborate set up where she jumped you and scratched your throat out with her excessively polished fingernails. But even if she did, it was pretty fair to say that you deserved it.

So after your first class, you were able to hop on the bus for a quick trip to Haven, the thought of your next class lodged in the back of your mind. After the incident in Minho’s apartment, you hadn’t stepped a foot back inside. Granted it had only been twelve hours at the most, but it felt like days when it seemed like everyone was mad at you. Word of what happened traveled fast, and despite no one in your group of friends asking you about it specifically, you knew that they knew. You suspected that Changbin was the culprit, but you really couldn’t blame him. He didn’t exactly know the extent of the situation.

But it was hard when even Felix seemed hesitant to talk to you.

Chan was still there to text you every hour, even after you explained most of the situation to him. But he remained understanding and sweet.

As he was all the time.

When you walked into the diner, a burst of warmth enveloped you and your nose turned up at the scent of comfort food and coffee. It was nice, and eased some of the tension in your muscles.

Hyunae sat along the inside booths where most of the diners traffic was, close enough to the door that you could run if you needed to. She had her eyes cast down on her phone and your arrival hadn’t been noticed—you could’ve turned around and left then and there, ending all of your messy doubts and fears for the day. But you couldn’t. Your feet continued forward without your consent, dragging you those last final inches to her table.

With the new presence, she looked up.

Hyunae’s eyes widened for a second, darting over your form as if to double check that you were really there.

“I kind of didn’t think you were going to come.” She exhaled a small laugh, motioning towards the other side of the table where a still hot cup of coffee sat.

You took the cup in your cold hands, “Thanks…”

You didn’t know what to say—the ball was in her park and she was in control of where things headed.

She sighed, leaning back against the booth, her pretty skin flushed with the nip of the air. “I’ll just cut to the chase… I wanted to apologize for what I did—for everything that I did. I’ve been a bitch for a while, and I only realized it now.”

With her avoiding eye contact, you could openly gape at her confession, because—what?

The Hyunae was apologizing to you?

“I don’t—I don’t really understand why you’re suddenly apologizing.” You said, voice hoarse.

Hyunae tugged her sweater closer to her form, arms curling around her waist as someone else walked through the door, sending a blast of cold air through the diner.

“You know, for being a complete bitch to you while Ji and I were dating. It was all a jealousy thing to be completely honest. I didn’t actually—”

You blinked, waving your hand out to stop her rambling. You weren’t sure that you could process the first half of her words, let alone the endless ramble that she was capable of spewing.

“Are…” you swallowed. “Are you guys not together?”

She frowned, brows furrowed.

“Jisung broke up with me, Y/n. Did he not tell you?”

The scratch of a broken record echoed through your head as you nearly dropped the ceramic cup of coffee all over yourself.

“What?”

She nodded slowly, “I thought you would be the first person he told, considering…”

“Considering what?”

Her briefness and dodging was only making you frustrated, your hand waving in front of her face to finally gain her eyes. You had no idea that Jisung broke up with her, and you had no idea why. Some part of you hoped that the reason had something to do with you, but you just pushed that load of feelings away. It wasn’t fair to think of such things while the girl who had recently been broken up with sat directly in front of you.

You really were a god awful person.

She laughed a little, her eyes taking in your complete disbelief.

“Well I’ll be damned. You two really are perfect for each other, huh?”

Before you could ask exactly what that was supposed to mean, you watched as her cheeks flushed a bright red—this time not at the fault of the air. Again she laughed, all humor aside, and her hands lifted to her face as tears leaked from her eyes.

“God,” she sniffed, frantically moving to wipe her face with her sleeve. “You both really suck.”

You leaned forward awkwardly, passing her a napkin from the holder with a small tilt of your head. “I’ve come to realize that recently.”

She gave you a look that read, “don’t agree with me” and it managed to pull a laugh from your own throat. Hyunae might’ve been a little bit of a bitch, but it wasn’t without reason. She was insecure and jealous and those two things are away at someone like a virus. It was almost impossible to not feel such things at your age.

You always forgot that you were barely out of high school, the years of petty emotions and fake relationships hadn’t quite yet been erased from your minds. You were all in the same boat.

Just trying to learn along the way.

“You know what’s funny…” Hyunae smiled, her eyes wet. “I always kind of routed for you two. I didn’t really know it, but it was always in the back of my head.”

You felt your lip wobble, but you bit it down, clenching your jaw. There was no way in hell that you were going to cry. You weren’t going to do that—you had no reason to. Hyunae was the one who just lost her boyfriend, and she was the only one who was supposed to be sad.

“Every time you and him were together it just looked so right. I don’t know…” She swiped her hair over her shoulder with a sigh. “I honestly couldn’t believe it when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I thought you two had been a thing for a while—” right, you nearly forgot about the time when Hyunae was simply a friend. “—but then he came bounding up with a goofy smile on his face and that was it. It was over.”

Hyunae and Jisung had some math class together back in high school, he didn’t tell you much about her, but you knew enough to think she was a decent person. Back in those days, Hyunae was much different; sporting a thick pair of glasses and dark hair. But still just as gorgeous, as everyone with two eyes could see.

She followed Jisung around like a lost puppy, and even had to be shooed away by Minho a few times. You were just glad that she listened, since Minho’s temper had been much worse then. You didn’t remember the details but you did remember the day that Jisung jumped back to your house with a big smile and flushed cheeks. It was a time when you were still an angsty teenager and listened to terrible love songs when you were in emotional distress. So that news was a real punch in the face.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what else to say, she wasn’t exactly your friend, so you didn’t know how to take in and process the information that she just threw at you.

Hyunae shook her head.

“Don’t be sorry. I had a feeling before that it was going to happen sooner or later. Who knew it was going to be so much later?”

You sent her a small smile. She wasn’t half bad when she wasn’t completely ignoring your existence and sending murderous glances your way.

The waiter rounded up to your table—unfortunately, not Jeongin—and proceeded to ask you what you wanted to order. After Hyunae promised to pay for your meal as well, the two of you talked for what seemed to be hours. You didn’t talk about anything at all—going on about classes and professors that you couldn’t stand. Your mind was clear for the first time in weeks and it was beyond refreshing to talk to her about things that only another girl would understand. Being around boys every day of your life had taken a toll on you and you hadn’t realized it until you were laughing as Hyunae ranted about how obviously sexist your communications professor was.

You could be yourself around the boys, of course. But with her, you could be someone you hadn’t been in a long time.

With a fry between her fingers, she hummed, leaning her chin on her hand.

It was only a matter of time before she reverted to what she came to talk to you about, and you tried your hardest to redirect the conversation each time it looked like it was going to be lead down that spiral of absolute hell—

“I think you guys would be cute together.”

You deadpanned, flicking your empty straw wrapper in her direction.

“Are we really talking about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named right now?” You quirked a brow, not at all happy with the way she snickered at your question.

“If it makes you feel better, Y/n… I think I’ve had feelings for Hyunjin for a long time as well.”

“Oh yeah, my guilt is cured.”

She nearly snorted her water, sputtering a little bit around her mouthful. You took a bit of pride in that.

“I actually missed your sarcasm, believe it or not.”

Sighing, you threw all of your remaining trash onto one plate, your belly finally full and happy. “Wow, you actually remember when we didn’t hate each other?”

“You really hated me?”

“A little bit. Your whole lovey-dovey act was a bit sickening.” You shrugged.

“Because you’re in love with Ji?”

You froze immediately.

Hyunae couldn’t just drop it? Her constant mention of Jisung was really putting a damper on your mood, and the itch of fight or flight was really beginning to kick in once again.

And to think things were going so well.

“No,” you said, shaking your head quickly. “No no, I have a boyfriend. Sort of... I’m not in love with anyone—”

“Y/n, look at me. Please,” she reached over the table to tap your chin with her pretty manicured finger, her face pulling into a soft smile. “Darling, it’s been almost two years since we graduated high school, and nothing has changed between the two of you since then. Even while you were dating other people. He still looks at you like you hung the damn stars and you still blush whenever he calls you those stupid little pet names he has for you. You’re both whipped.”

Your face softened under her stare. Her words hit a cord inside of your chest, but it was just something that made your head hurt when you thought about it. You didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

“Jisung and I have only ever been friends. Yes, we’ve been good friends for a long time, but he has never told me anything about liking me. If he can’t tell me something as simple as this then I don’t think I can—”

Suddenly her eyes were hard set, piecing fiercely into yours. It stopped you in your tracks immediately.

“Don’t make me get any more upset with you, okay?”

Hyunae was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

“Listen,” She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Jisung is the best guy I’ve ever dated and that probably won’t ever change. I want him to be happy, and I want you to be happy too. So please just think about things. I’m here telling you that this boy is head over heels in love with you—that he has been for years. His fault here is the fact that he’s so oblivious to his own feelings that he can’t see yours. He just—” her hands flailed in front of her, searching for her next words. “—doesn’t know how.”

You sighed. “I always liked Jisung when I was a kid. Hell, even earlier this year I could turn to you and say—yes, I am in love with Han Jisung.”

Hyunae blinked.

“But who the hell am I to say that I’m in love with someone? I’m not—I’m definitely not.” You sighed, mind wandering back to when things barely crossed your mind for longer than a minute. Things had been tossed around so lightly. “It was frustrating because it was so easy to like him when I was young. There wasn’t this huge word hanging over my head like there is now.”

Hyunae pushes her empty plate to join yours, speaking without a care. “You know that you don’t have to love him, right? You could simply like him.”

You felt the weight behind what she was saying in your chest, you didn’t have to label what you felt for him if you still weren’t sure. The only problem with that was that you knew what you felt for Jisung, and it was stupid. Because how could you look at someone and know how you felt when you hadn’t even seen every side of them?

You couldn’t remember when he had last been serious with you. Never once had he looked at you with the eyes of an adult and told you about his inner thoughts. That wasn’t who Jisung was, he avoided those thoughts.

He was only ever happy around you, and whether that was a good or a bad thing, you had no idea.

“Was Jisung ever serious with you?”

Hyunae was momentarily stunned by your out of place question but she recovered with a small hum. “Well, a little bit. Whenever he was upset or tired he’d get a little snippy, but serious? I’m not really sure.”

That was just how Jisung was.

“Huh…”

“Oh,” she chirped suddenly, her lead raising as if she remembered something. “There was a moment when he was always serious.”

Your head quirked to the side in question, eyes wide with curiosity. Despite knowing him for years, there was still plenty of unknowns to Han Jisung, and you were curious to know more.

“What is it?”

Hyunae’s mouth opened for a moment, then closed. Many things flashed over her face at once, but it was safe to assume that she was rethinking her words. Your chest fell.

Her eyes darted away from yours, guilt flashing over her features. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”

“Not fair,” frowning, you pouted. “That’s the worst cliffhanger ever.”

She tisked, small smile pulling to her lips. “Well,” she shrugged. “You could always move forward to find out.”

She was right, you could.

There were many things you had to move forward with, many people you had to have a conversation with; Jisung definitely being one of them. With a mental list of all the people that you had questions and answers for, everything only just began to clear themselves up. It was small, but it was something. Your head was always busy anyway, having things clearing out was like a breath of fresh air that you could barely reach.

But it was still something.

“You’re right. I think I just have to start with someone else.”

Hyunae smiled, “Get on with it then. Hurry your ass out of here.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting this,”

Maybe you shouldn’t have listened to Hyunae.

Your heart was pounding radically in your chest as you sat straight as a board on the spinning office chair of the notorious recording room. You hadn’t seen it since that day it all began—honestly it had seemed so long ago. The room was cleaned up and organized, all the wires neatly tucked into the back instead of sprawled all over the floor, and you found yourself focusing more on that than the person in front of you.

You almost had to force yourself to your chair, everything feeling way too heavy for your liking.

“What do you mean?”

Chan ran a hand through his messy curls. It was only a few days ago that you had wanted to run your own fingers through his dark hair.

“You and Jisung aren’t very subtle, but uh, I was just hoping you could like me—” he paused for a moment, filing through his mind for the right words. “—as well, I guess.”

“Oh…”

“Hey, it’s fine. Jisung’s a good guy, you guys will be good together.”

Had you stepped into a parallel universe where every ex was supportive instead of filled with rage?

“But—well, I don’t even know if we are going to end up together or anything like that. My head has just been all over the place lately and I definitely never intended to drag you into this mess. I feel awful, god I’m a terrible person, aren’t I—?”

“Y/n.” Chan said, voice firm.

Your cheeks heated at the realization of your otherwise embarrassing ramble.

“Sorry…” You squeaked.

Chan sighed, leaning more weight against his desk. “Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you freaking out here. You need to know that I’m an adult too, none of this is all your fault.”

You froze for a moment—one stupid moment just looking into Chan’s pretty brown eyes and realizing how weak they made you feel.

Chan’s mouth curled into a sympathetic smile as a tear rolled down the apple of your cheek. His hand reached forward to swipe the intact droplet with his pointer finger, and a small giggle rippled through his chest.

“God—Don’t cry, stupid,” he suddenly brushed his hand over your face, an attempt to raise your spirits to the very end. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“I hate you…” You sniffed, swatting his hand away with a quiet sob.

As his finger ran over your wet cheek to collect the little drops that leaked down, you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry so you did both, once again crumbling under his touch.

“Hey,” he smiled. “You can’t hate me. I should be the one hating you.”

Your lip jutted out into a pout, one that he wanted so badly to kiss from your lips.

“Then we can hate each other.”

Chan hummed, watching as your jaw clenched in an attempt to keep your emotions from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t want him to see just how conflicted you were, he knew that much.

“Okay. We can do that.”

And he leaned down to place a soft kiss to the top of your head, careful of the affection he gave you.

But it only made your stupid heart hiccup in your chest, opposed to the way it would’ve raced had it only been days prior.

With Jisung it was warmth that spread over your body, but with Chan it was like floating in a pool of water with all your clothes on; encasing and safe and just a little sticky.

You were sure if you wanted to chase after the brief relief that Chan brought to you, it was difficult to tell with the way you were trying to find your answers. Was one more chance unfair to Chan? Even after explaining your inner (and slightly unknown) thoughts and feelings to him about Jisung, could you still salvage anything if you tried one more time?

“Can I… kiss you please?” You asked, neither looking in his eyes or at his plump lips. You really liked his lips.

Chan smiled, eyes darting down to your little pout. He liked your lips too.

“You want to?”

You hummed, a small nod to tell him that you were too embarrassed to confirm his words with those of your own. But Chan was understanding and patient. He didn’t push you to do anything as Jisung did—Chan was so perfect, why the hell did you think about Han Jisung?

What was wrong with you?

You didn’t want to answer that question. You wanted it all to go away—the fear, the confusion, everything. And the way Chan was looking at you made you feel it all simmer down to nothing. His eyes were so soft.

You were backpedaling, you knew that. But it was hard not to when Chan felt so safe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His lips quirked up.

You felt bad for not liking Chan the way you liked Jisung. He was better to love and he showed you everything you had missed before. He held you when you were sad, cooed into your ear that everything was going to be alright when it was him who was taking the loss. Why did he do that?

Leaning forward, you all but collapsed into his embrace, finally feeling his soft lips again.

One thing you loved about Chan was his arms. You loved how they felt around you, and how strong they were. A lot of people liked his arms for those reasons too, you supposed. He may have been your first, but you certainly weren’t his.

How long were you going to go back and forth?

Reassurance was what you had with Chan, but with Jisung there was time. You took your time with him unknowingly, watching him with your brother as they played video games in Minho’s room. You were yelled at, pushed, and locked out, but you still got back up and pushed back. As uncool of a sister you were back then, you persisted.

Minho and Jisung would tease you and pick on you all they wanted, but you were still there at the end of the day. Tear stained cheeks and dirty clothes, and you were still there carrying your silly crush on your big brother’s best friend.

There was time spent building something to stand on, years of pining and banter lead to a feeling that you couldn’t just replace with a kind heart and a kiss.

No matter how nice the lips you kissed were.

Chan knew this too. He knew you were thinking of so many different factors at once, and he was still pulling you tight to him, aware that your kiss would be his last from you. What he felt with you was terrifying.

You both meant to forget.

His arms held you tight, hands respectfully placed on your waist as you pushed and pushed into the embrace. The kiss was all new and too intense, but there was something screaming at you to just keep going.

It grew more heated and your emotions mingled as a small voice began chipping away at the back of your mind; telling you that you didn’t deserve it, that you didn’t deserve him. Even as you found yourself lifting to your knees and straddling his waist, the voice persisted, not even silenced by the soft words that Chan spoke.

“I feel like you’re going to break if I touch you.” He admitted, voice unstable.

You shook your head in a daze, “I won’t, I promise.”

You wanted the thought of Jisung out—the thought of him touching another girl the same way Chan was touching you. Did he hold Hyunae like this? Did he kiss her like she was the most precious thing to him? Was there a chance that he would with you? Did he even want to?

You wanted no part of that thought so you pushed further.

“I’ll be okay, Chan. If it’s you, I’ll be okay.” You murmured.

Chan’s heart thudded in his chest.

And in that moment, he almost forgot that you were in love with someone else.

“Okay, I’ll take care of you.”

You smiled, a small burst of heat running over your cheeks.

“Sap…”

Chan nearly responded with, “but I’m your sap” but he managed to bite his tongue, distracting himself by slipping one hand under the hem of your shirt. His hand was cold but not unwelcome as it felt along your stomach, and for the first time being with Chan your thoughts slipped—his hand was too strong, too rough. It wasn’t soft and pretty like Jisung’s, it wasn’t warm and comfortable like Jisung’s had been around your waist that morning. Chan’s hands were veiny and cold to the touch. Of course ther was nothing wrong with that. But they weren’t Jisung’s.

All it took was one hug from Jisung to stir up your head, huh?

But he had felt so nice against your back, his with but muscular build feeling like it was meant to be there all along. He had hugged you from behind back in high school many times, his chin resting on your shoulder and his breath fanning over your neck. It was hard to focus then, and it had been hard to focus that morning as well. How did you not know it was Jisung?

Sure, he and Chan were similar in height but Jisung just fit differently.

And when his eyes landed on your neck, it had been the feeling of panic that crossed you. You didn’t want Jisung to see you like that—with another man’s markings over your throat.

A sudden thought crossed your mind as Chan slowed his lips journey on your neck…

Was it really Minho that was preventing you from dating?

The look in your brother’s eyes had been one of disappointment, but he hadn’t done anything, and deep down you knew there was no way he would really hurt the person you were in a relationship with. Of course he would scare them away and make it clear that he wasn’t a fan of you dating, but there you were, watching him do it, barely giving your big brother a slap on the wrist—

“Y/n,” Chan called, and you hadn’t even realized that he had taken his mouth off of your shoulder. “Babygirl…”

He tested the name on his tongue.

But his doubts were confirmed as you frowned. The nickname would’ve once sounded like heaven leaving his lips, but now...

He sent you a small smile after studying your features for a moment.

“Do you miss him, right now?”

Your eyes widened at his words—you did.

“No. Of course not,” you said, shaking your head with shaky inhales. “Why are you asking me that?”

There was an internal battle behind Chan’s eyes as he watched your face morph into discomfort. He was a little frustrated.

Chan removed his hand from underneath your shirt.

“If we’re going to be friends, Y/n… I don’t want you to lie to me anymore, okay?”

The shock that his words gave you made your eyes well up. It was like a punch to the gut to hear Chan scold you. He had never done such a thing before and you knew—you knew for sure that you couldn’t keep lying.

When you cried, Chan didn’t wipe away your tears, he simply kept his eyes on yours as his hand rubbed small circles on your back. You needed to cry, and of course Chan knew that.

He was Chan after all.

“I’m so sorry—” you hiccuped, swallowing air as your palms lifted to cover your eyes. “—this sucks. This really really sucks.”

Chan sighed, feeling the sleepless nights catch up to him as he watched you break down. It was the worst feeling. It wasn’t that you were very obviously in love with someone else despite how his own chest aches for you to sink back into him and kiss the tiredness away, no—it was the fact that it was tearing you apart. That was what hurt him the most.

“Go see Ji.”

Chan topped your head up with his finger, leaving one last peck to your tear covered lips.

“He’s probably still upset.”

You nodded, laying your head down on his chest with a shaky sigh. “You’re a good guy, Chan…”

“Yeah, I know.”

688 notes · View notes

writingtoforgetreality · 4 years ago

Text

Too Close To Home (Malcolm Bright x Reader)

Request: Hi! I'd like to request a Malcolm Bright x reader or OFC story. Malcolm and the reader know each other since a few years. The reader has grown up in an abusive family and also has anxiety. They spend more time together cuz of a case. When the reader gets into danger, Malcolm saves her. He guides her home afterwards. First he doesn't want to come in but then they spend the night together (smutty or not, whatever you prefer). Afterwards they experience the most peaceful sleep they've had in ages :) (by @angelicastiel), [Prodigal Son-Masterlist]

Summary: Another case you & your team got to work on. This time, though, the backstory of the killer hit a bit too close to home. Still, you wanted to get the job done & arrest the murderer. There would have been a better, less dangerous way, but you could not change your actions anymore. And maybe you got something out of it. Something you had been wanting for the longest time.

Words: 3,827

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, angst, language, probably spoilers for season 2, father figure!Gil, little kidnapping situation, talks of murder (I mean, it’s Prodigal Son), first time writing for Prodigal Son (even though I do feel kinda confident writing for it, idk…let me know what you think)

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Being part of Gil Arroyo’s team was a dream coming true. Your years in college were spent working your ass off in order to end up in a job like that. Not only did Gil give you a place to work, he also took you under his wing. Talking about your past was something you dreaded but somehow you found yourself opening up to him. He knew about your parents & could tell when things started becoming too much for you. Throughout your time at the NYPD, you got closer with your team. Dani & JT had become your best friends. Malcolm, on the other hand, had been a different case. While the two of you sure were friendly with one another, you slowly developed a little crush on the profiler. Who were you kidding? You had the biggest crush, it was kind of embarrassing. Especially because Dani & JT teased the living hell out of you. Luckily, Gil had yet to notice. You did not want to bring private business into your job.

This case had been a tough one. Not only that but it hit too close to home for your liking. The killer you had been looking for left you a letter at the crime scene. It was a man who had been abused by his parents when he was younger. In that letter, he explained why he did what he did. Like, yeah, you came from an abusive household, too, but you were not running around, murdering a what looked like innocent man. Like, chill a bit. Gil pulled you a few feet away from the scene after you all had finished reading. This left Dani, JT & Edrisa alone with looking for more details. Malcolm was still nowhere to be found, even though all of you had tried calling him a couple of times.

“Maybe you should sit this one out.” Gil’s hand was on your shoulder, keeping you an arm’s distance away to take a look at your face. He knew right away that you were thinking about your own parents & sometimes things could be messy if private stuff got mixed up with work stuff. Again the reason why you kept your feelings for Malcolm at bay.

“Gil.” you sighed. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you guys need me.” Gil hated to admit it but you were right. The team was lost without you & nobody knew if your killer was planning another crime while you were inspecting this scene. A voice interrupted your conversation & both, you & Gil, looked at where it was coming from. Would you look at that. Malcolm, everyone. Fashionably late, as always. Why did he have to look so good though? Ugh…

“I heard there was another murder? What have we got?” Malcolm, being his usual self when it came to crime scenes, directed his questions at both of you.

“You would know if you decided to show up sooner.” Gil gave him a tight lipped smile & you could hear the sarcasm in his statement. Yeah, nobody could ever stay mad at Malcolm for a long time. Except maybe JT. But he seemed like he was just pissed off by whatever Malcolm did. That was why they were such great friends.

“The guy left us a letter, kind gesture, right? Edrisa should have it.” your arms crossed over your chest to hide how bad your hands were shaking. The action did not go unnoticed by Malcolm, though. He could tell you were uncomfortable. Your anxiety seemed even worse than usually. It was not like you ever opened up to Malcolm about your struggles. You had found it hard to talk about your feelings, even when you talked to Gil. But since Gil had become some sort of father figure to you, you found it a little easier to open up to him. The thing was that Malcolm was working even when he was not working. Which meant that he was profiling others even outside of work. It was not hard to notice your trembling hands, your bouncing legs, your struggle to keep eye contact. He could tell that your anxiety was bad. Most days, you hid it rather well, he had to give you that. A normal person would have never noticed anything wrong with your behavior. Malcolm, though, knew better & while he did not know what had happened to you in the past, he knew you were struggling nevertheless. But he could worry about you another time, for now, he had to focus on the crime scene.

As Malcolm walked over to where Edrisa was standing, you pulled at Gil’s hand, motioning him to follow you. Edrisa handed over the letter & explained briefly what they had found so far. You knew what was about to come. As did everyone else, so you quieted down & let the profiler do his job.

“Our dear murderer wrote the letter after he killed James here. The ink is too fresh & some of the letters are smudged. The printer in the office was still running when you got here, right?” this earned him a nod from Edrisa. “No fingerprints, though, he was smart enough to wear gloves. Which brings me to my assumption that he had planned this long beforehand. The bruises show that he was strangled & while we still have to wait for the autopsy, I’m almost entirely sure that he was killed because of that. I believe the stab wounds were caused after he died. The way his words were written sounds way too passionate for an accident. No, this guy, he was enjoying it. If it were an accident, he would have left the scene way sooner. But he took the time to type a letter & print it, to complete his mission by laying it right on top of our victim’s chest.” Malcolm finished & looked around to find everyone rolling their eyes except for you. Whenever he started rambling & piecing evidence together, you simply stood there mesmerized. This time was not different. His eyes met yours & he shot you a little smile which you copied.

“Anything else you wanna tell us? Like, why you’re way too excited about this entire thing?” JT spoke up. You gave him a little slap & chuckled.

“Don’t act like it’s something new.” laughing when you looked at his face.

“Okay, guys. Wrap it up here, we need to continue this at the precinct.” Gil’s authority voice came through & you all knew better than to mess with him.

Malcolm, Dani & JT were already in one of the offices when you & Gil came in. Usually, you asked Gil to take you everywhere, mostly because you got rather shaky during cases & you did not trust yourself enough to drive on your own. Gil told you he did not mind at all.

“Found anything useful?” you asked when you entered & looked over JT’s shoulder to make out what he was doing on his laptop. Malcolm stood at the front of the room, right in front of the whiteboard & was too busy sorting his thoughts to even notice you. Dani told you that they had no luck just yet & soon you found yourself helping them with research, something you were incredibly good at. Gil had left for a while but when he got back, he brought each of you a cup of coffee, knowing it was bound to be a long night without much rest. Being the stubborn person that you were, you declined his request of you calling it a night & heading back home. You were onto something & could not stop right now. Gil let the topic die down with a long sigh. The five of you spent the entire night looking for clues & connections & by the time the sun started rising, you had a plan filed out to catch the killer.

After hours of research, mostly from you, you found out that the victim had very wealthy parents. Parents who loved their kid like nothing else. Parents who would do anything for their kid. Checking his social media profiles, you could tell that he was not silent about his wealth or the love he felt for his parents. “Enough to get our killer started.” Malcolm had said. It took you a while but after checking James’ classmates, you had a suspect & after checking his social media accounts, you knew where you had to go to catch him. Sometimes, things could be so easy, so clear to see. Probably a bad idea to expect you were right with everything but you had a good feeling. Yet, you could not quite understand how someone could kill just because of envy. Just because they did not have what someone else did.

Your suspect spent almost all of his evenings in a local pub, not too far away from the precinct. It was a small pup, not a lot of people, but since it was Friday, you expected it to be filled tonight.

“Why does (Y/N) have to be bait again?” Malcolm asked after discussing the plan yet another time.

“Because she looks more like a guest of a pub like that. You would be out of place, so would Dani & JT.” Gil reasoned. He did not like the idea either but it was probably the best shot they had.

“Right, because if I make an effort I can actually look like an alcoholic. Is that what you’re saying?” despite your chuckle, you found yourself growing more & more nervous. Malcolm noticed right away, didn’t comment on it though.

“What I’m saying is that we all want this asshole locked up & I don’t want you to look like an alcoholic. I want you to go there as if you just got done with work for the day. Take a seat at the bar. We’ll be connected with you this entire time, we’ll hear your conversation. Wait a little & if he doesn’t approach you then you will. Understood?” Gil looked around the room, kept his focus on you, though, & when you nodded he told you all to head off & get this party started.

“You’re nervous.” you flinched when you heard a voice beside you. Malcolm. Of course.

“I’m not. Just preparing myself.” you did not mean to sound this harsh but he did not really pay attention to that.

“So your shaking hands are a form of preparation?” he teased but you could not focus on his way of calming you right now. Your anxious mind was killing you.

“Look, Mal, I need to go, okay? We’ll talk later.” & before he even had the chance to answer, you were sprinting off.

Ordering a strong drink at the bar in the hopes of it calming your nerves, you tried acting as if you did go out every night. In fact, you were highly uncomfortable. Crowds made your anxiety act up & pubs were usually worse. Drunk people wanting to get laid or whatever. It just was not your world. Anyway, you had better things to focus on. Your suspect had already walked up to the bar & took, much to your dismay, a seat too far away from you to start an actual conversation. Quickly informing your team, an idea popped into your head. He would start taking an interest in you if you got him to grow envious. So without overthinking, you grabbed your phone from your purse & pretended dialing someone.

“Hi mom! How are you?” as much as it hurt saying those words, you felt accomplished when you noticed the suspect’s eyes on you. “Great, as always! We still on for lunch tomorrow?...Perfect! Actually, I wanted to thank you for the purse you got me! I found the package earlier today, you are crazy. That’s way too much.” if it were not for your job at the NYPD, you would make one hell of an actor. Deep down, your heart was breaking a little more with each word you said. “Oh? I’m your favorite daughter? I’m your only daughter, mom, but thanks.” you gave a genuine, or at least you hoped it sounded genuine, laugh & continued. The man had already made his way over to you & took the empty seat next to you. You had him, not fully but almost. Just keep going, you thought to yourself. “Tell dad I miss him, too! I’ll make sure to meet up with him soon. A much needed father-daughter weekend. It has been too long…Alright, I love you too, bye.” you ended your call & placed the phone back into your purse. Gil would kill you after you finished this case. Once again you were improvising but at least it got you here, sitting next to a possible killer. Possible killer? No, you knew it was him. He made it rather obvious after that fake phone call. Thinking about what you had just said on the phone got cut short by the man beside you speaking up.

“Sounds like a nice mom.” a drink in his hand, his gaze not focused on you but on the liquid in his glass.

“Oh, she’s the best. I’m lucky to have her. Same goes for my dad.” these words hurt so bad & if you were not so focused on arresting this asshole you would have started breaking down right in the middle of this bar.

“I’m Enrico, by the way.” he held out his hand for you to shake which you did.

“(Y/N).” faking another smile at him, you were surprised that your silly plan actually seemed to work. This dude was desperate. And it made him extremely dangerous.

“(Y/N), wanna head out & catch some fresh air? This pub is filling up.” he placed money on the counter, paying for not only his but also your drink. Thanking him, you got up. When his hand grabbed yours, you slightly flinched but did not pull away. The thought of your team waiting outside with handcuffs made you breathe easier. Arriving outside did not exactly put your mind at ease. Where was your team? Just when you wanted to turn around, you felt a strong grip around your waist & a cloth being held in front of your nose & mouth. There was not even enough time to scream before you were met with darkness.

Loud voices woke you up. A gunshot. Shit, why could you not move? Where the fuck were you? Looking down at your wrists, you saw them being chained tightly to a chair. Suddenly, a person was kneeling in front of you & you were surprised to find Gil helping you out of the chains. His mouth was moving but your heartbeat was too loud to make out any other noises.

“Have you got him?” Gil rolled his eyes at your question but soon after, nodded. This could have ended badly for you & he was just happy to see you alive & breathing.

“You hurt?” this time his voice was more serious. He looked you over but besides the bruises on your wrists, you seemed fine. Shaking your head no was enough for him to drop it for now.

“That was stupid, (Y/N). We could’ve walked in there & just arrested him in that damn pub. Why did you think it was a good idea to start this whole pretending thing?”

“Could we please not do this today, Gil? I’m tired.” you felt ashamed, embarrassed that you did not handle the situation better. Usually, you were way more careful when it came to other cases. You could not even tell why you thought you needed to act out an entire scene. It felt like the right decision at the time.

“Malcolm? Come over here.” Gil decided to let you rest for tonight but he sure as hell would teach you a lesson tomorrow. He could not have another person risking everything & acting irresponsible. He already had Malcolm. No need to have another one like him.

“(Y/N)? Oh, thank God.” Malcolm came jogging over to where you & Gil were. A small smile started forming, signaling that you were fine.

“Take her home with you. She shouldn’t be alone tonight.” & with that he left you & Malcolm alone.

Two hands came into view & you let yourself be pulled up into a standing position. Malcolm still held onto you since your legs were on the verge of giving out. After a few seconds, though, you felt steady enough & thanked him for helping you. Without another word, he took your hand in his & dragged you outside to his car. Any other day, you would have blushed like crazy but your exhaustion was overpowering your crush. Malcolm opened the passenger side for you & helped you in. Then, he got around to the driver’s side. His body turned towards you & when you noticed that the car still had not been started, you found Malcolm staring at you. Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. After a long pause & a deep breath of his, Malcolm’s voice broke the silence in the car.

“That was-“

“Stupid, I know. Gil already told me.” usually, you would have sounded sarcastic but tonight, you did not have the strength to try & act like you were fine. Because if you were honest, everything that had happened got you thinking. Not that you could have died but everything that had happened with your parents. How awful they treated you. How abusive they were. Not trying to start another conversation, Malcolm started the engine & drove up to his apartment. Gil’s order, after all. Though, he had to admit that he liked the idea of you being close to him. Hell, he could have lost you today. He could have lost you & you still had no idea about his feelings for you. Simply because he was too much of a coward when push came to shove.

The car ride was silent & the tension could have been cut with a knife. Once or twice you almost started talking, wanting to explain yourself. Why you were so exhausted. It was not the first time you got close to death but it was certainly the first time where your past came catching up. Each time, though, you chickened out.

“I’m sorry.” it was you who spoke up first when you entered Malcolm’s apartment.

“What for?” Malcolm turned his focus back to you.

“I made this case unnecessarily hard for you guys. I should’ve handled it better. It’s just…this thing with this fake phone call, it was…fuck, how do I say this?” the last part you mumbled to yourself but when Malcolm spoke up again, you knew he had heard you.

“It’s okay. Gil told me about your parents. I get it, I do. I probably would’ve done the same thing & then it would’ve been you & Gil telling me I was stupid.” you chuckled lightly & Malcolm was happy that you were not mad at him for knowing about your past. He had been aware of your struggles before, now he could finally tell where they were coming from.

Strangely, you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders, now that Malcolm knew. At least you knew he would never judge you, he had his own…familial issues after all. Tears started forming in your eyes & you tried blinking them away angrily, frustrated that you were losing it now even though the situation had been dealt with.

“Come here.” Malcolm opened his arms & you gladly accepted the invitation. Throwing yourself onto him like your life depended on it. His arms wrapped strongly around you. Not in an uncomfortable way, more like in a comforting way. The two of you simply stood in the middle of his apartment, not saying anything, he let you cry it all out & in that moment, it was all you needed.

“Thank you. Sorry for messing up your shirt.” a quiet laugh escaped you. It was not much but it was a good start.

“It’s no problem, really. Here, I’ll bring you some clothes to sleep in, I’m sure you don’t wanna sleep in work clothes?” Malcolm opened one of his drawers & grabbed a basic t-shirt & some sweatpants. Not much but definitely way more comfortable than what you were wearing right now. This was not your first time being at Malcolm’s home so you helped yourself & moved into his bathroom to take a quick shower & change into his clothes. It only took you about ten minutes, you were craving sleep.

“You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Malcolm was setting up his couch to sleep on when you came out of the bathroom.

“Nope, forget it. I wont let you take that couch.” you argued.

“Hey, it’s a comfortable couch!” he defended his way too expensive piece of furniture.

“What about your restraints?”

“Don’t need them when you’re around.” Malcolm let slip without much thought. Only when you tilted your head & raised your eyebrows did he realize what he had just said. “I mean…I don’t know. I’m usually much calmer when I’m with you.” It was funny to see Malcolm trying to explain himself. He was embarrassed but you were putting a stop to it right away.

“Okay, so I guess it would help even more when you’re right next to me, am I right? Your bed is big enough, Mal.” your sweet smile was convincing enough & soon you found yourself laying on one side of the bed while Malcolm was occupying the other.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved or said anything. The silence was not uncomfortable, the situation was still new for the both of you. Yet, you knew what you wanted. What you needed. So you grabbed one of Malcolm’s hands, turned around & let his arm fall around your waist. This action caught him off guard but he relaxed into the new position quickly. While the both of you still had not confessed, this felt like a step into the right direction. You felt safe in his embrace & knew you could be your true self with him. No hiding whatsoever. That thought made you smile. Exhaustion soon took over but the last words you heard before falling into a peaceful slumber were: Sleep well, (Y/N). I’ve got you. Afterwards, he pressed a light kiss on your shoulder & fell asleep himself. Tonight, your struggles could be forgotten. At least for a few hours until morning came around. Then, you still had enough time to deal with whatever was happening between you & Malcolm. Tomorrow, you could deal with your past some more. But right now, all you wanted was to have a peaceful night & Malcolm could give you just that.

Published (03/25/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @fandom-queen67, @cons-tit-ution, @where-thesundoesntshine, @itsanemu0101, @chill-fangirl, @angelnyx, @octopus5555, @the-unknown-fan-girl (thanks for your support <3 - sorry if I tagged you mistakenly/please let me know if I did)

98 notes · View notes

shintorikhazumi · 4 years ago

Text

I Hate You.

A/N: I guess this is thanks for the warm welcome to your server? Akko-centric angst? @blee-bleep I saw one of your posts, haha.

Wait… doesn’t Akko get bullied in canon?

Also, to everyone else in the server who sees this, I don’t quite know your preferences for a fic, but hmu some time haha

Sorry for feeding you some subpar writing owo

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

[I hate you.]

You mentally say to the girl in the mirror. Her hair is tussled, deep brown stained with the same bitter red on her fresh white shirt.

[I hate you.]

You tell the short teen, bags under her eyes, maybe from the lack of sleep. She looks pale, ugly. So ugly.

[I hate you.]

She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days, even though she binged full tubs of ice-cream, and stuffed a few cakes in barely three hours ago. All of them had gone to waste anyway. Trash bins, toilets, sometimes the woods. Perfect for throwing away stuff you don’t need. Or well… throwing up stuff you don’t need. In your body.

[I hate you.]

Through the reflective material allows her glimpses of stacks of papers marred red with E’s and F’s, and some barely passing grades, and that single A from language class.

At least professor Pisces seemed to appreciate her, that girl. Someone had to. Because you hated the girl in the mirror.

What a fool, what an idiot. How stupid, how dumb.

[I hate you.]

Her and her slow mind, incapable of comprehending the simplest things, disabled from casting the most basic magic-

Oh, but that isn’t her fault, now is it?

It was hers. Chariot du nord. The person she so idolizes, the witch who gave her her dream- and subsequently crushed it to dust.

The mentor she admires.

The mother she needed within the academy.

The one who betrayed her the most.

[I hate you.]

Hate the one who trusts blindly, the one who trusts in all the wrong things.

Hands reach up to a slim neck, almost hesitant to touch it. They wrap themselves around it. It’s cold, but there’s a pulse. It’s cold, yet she feels drenched in sweat. It’s cold… like her gaze.

She just needs to squeeze-

“Akko? We’re back and- what… happened to your arm?”

Lotte. You love her. You love her a lot. She’s sweet, smells like butterscotch and honey-lemon tea. She’s holding a plastic bag, school supplies? Yes. Looks like it.

“I was cutting open a package from home. The cutter slipped.” Lotte looks like she wants to believe you. But she doesn’t.

“Right, of course.”

“I’m telling the truth, Lotte. Look.” You point to the half-opened box on the floor that’s surprisingly actually there. Maybe you weren’t lying after all.

“I see, okay. I believe you Akko.”

You hate the fact that she may think you’re a liar. You love her, but you hate that.

Sucy walks into the room right after Lotte does. She says nothing other than the usual dull greeting, handing you a random mushroom.

Strange.

But that’s normal. Strange is normal for Sucy.

And you love that about her.

She doesn’t pry, she doesn’t act out of line, she only does what she’s supposed to… alongside other things.

But she never pushes it with you.

And you love that. You love the freedom and the space she gives you. The lack of interrogation.

Lotte bandages you up soon after, the antiseptic is supposed to sting, but… it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the many times you’ve been through this. You’ve grown numb. Immune to little stings. They’re nothing but ant bites.

They’re nothing compared to…

Lotte’s hand on your cheek pulls you out of your thoughts. She’s smiling kindly, no questions, no interrogations- well maybe one question.

“Are you hungry? Let’s grab some dinner.”

You nod. You tell her you’ll just get changed, and she and Sucy reluctantly leave you to your devices.

You say reluctantly because Lotte won’t stop throwing glances at you on her way out.

Sheesh. You’ll be fine.

You say that as you change out of your bloodied clothes.

You head to the wardrobe, you open it and find the mess that you call your… well, clothes. You need to do a bit of digging to find the perfect wear. Something thick, something dark, something long.

A long black hoody sounds perfect.

You wear it over matching joggers and face the mirror once more. You feel bile climb up your throat at the site of her. You hate her.

[I hate you.]

Her and her messy ass.

Her and her disgruntled look, and unkempt hair.

[I hate you.]

Red eyes. Bloody. So bloody. Bloodshot? Her eyes look like they would murder someone. That’s not very nice. You hate that. You hate her.

She’s not very nice.

There’s a breeze that wafts into your room. It’s chilly. It tells you that the window is open.

Ah.

The curtain is fluttering, it’s outstretching its hand, inviting you in.

Come now.

It’s alluring, white as snow.

The sun is gone, it’s left you like everyone else. You’re not likeable enough to have someone stay by your side.

You look back to the mirror. You see her, she looks lifeless, emotionless.

But wait- there’s… there’s fear in her eyes.

She’s afraid. You hate that. You hate her. She doesn’t deserve to feel fear, to have it reflected in her soul.

Ah.

You punched her. You didn’t mean to, but you did. But she fights back, it seems. Your hands… they’re… bleeding hands. There are cracked fragments of glass at your feet, and shards in your knuckles.

She’s evil.

She’s very much evil and you hate her.

She hurts you.

She hurts you all the time and you hate her because she hurts you so.

But she’s gone now.

You’ve punched her.

You no longer see her.

Her ugly face.

Her pale demeanor.

Her dying pallor.

Her idiotic expressions.

Nothing.

That makes you happy.

You can go to dinner now, yes.

Which… which way was it?

Oh, the curtain tells you it’s this way.

Here. Come here.

It’s cool, it’s fresh… it’s…

That’s deep.

The ground is far. Quite far.

It’s perfect.

You stand on the ledge.

It’s hard, stable.

Great.

You think of her one last time.

You hated her, but she deserves some parting words.

Maybe then her spirit wouldn’t be bound should she be dead as of now.

“I hate you.” You whisper once to the wind.

The wind carries it back.

That’s right.

“I hate you.”

The moon smiles.

You smile back.

I hate you.

I hate you just like everyone else does. The girls who threw away your drinking water after PE, the ones who put tacks in your shoes. The ones who hid your books and got you in trouble with Finneran.

Yes. Just like them all…

You thought it would get better for her.

But you were wrong.

You believed.

And you were stabbed, face-front, in the heart.

So stupid.

It never gets better.

Not for her. Not for you.

“I hate you. You idiot… You utterly, completely, MORONIC idiot.”

…

“I hate you... you and your stupid. STUPID. Believing heart.”

And you finally take that first step-

The door bursts wide open, slamming against the very wall it is attached to.

Ahhh… look at that beauty.

Fair-snow skin, gorgeous curled locks. Even through puffs of cold, cold air, you see cherry pink lips. They look so warm. Warm like her eyes, their feelings a stark contrast to that blue hue. Justice is there, kindness is there. Loyalty, bravery, beauty, talent… she has everything.

She has everything you love.

She is everything you love.

Ah that thought… you love that.

You love her.

So much.

So damn much.

“Diana…” You finally croak out.

“I hate me.”

She cries. You hate her tears. You hate yourself even more. You want to take your other foot and step out the next step, but…

“And yet, I Love You… Akko.”

A/N: Was that okay? I mean, no. Akko is not okay. Not okay. Hahaha. Yet.

Reactions are welcome.

~Shintori Khazumi

#fanfic #lwa #akko-centric #atsuko kagari #kagari akko #Little Witch Academia #dianakko #i guess #at the end #angst #angsssttt

43 notes · View notes

interludcs · 5 years ago

Text

BENEDETTA PORCAROLI , CIS FEMALE , SHE / HER → according to the school records , GIOVANNA ELOISA ARGENTI has been attending sacred heart for the past two years . i last saw them hanging around stan's place ; i think they were tying cherry stems into knots . at twenty - one , gio has been studying classics and get this , i heard that her bloodline has long been cursed to succumb to inevitable madness and it’s been the cause of many mysterious deaths in the family already — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with biting into an apple only to realize it’s rotten , a bloody nose dripping onto silk stockings , and the distorted screech of a violin coming from another room . in the time since these strange happenings , they have encountered unexplained occurrences .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ QUICK STATS !

full name : giovanna eloisa argenti

nickname(s) : gio , gigi ( although she likes to think she outgrew it )

zodiac : scorpio sun , gemini moon ( click ! )

sexuality : bisexual .

occupation : student & heiress .

birthplace : rome , italy .

current residence : sacred heart academy .

pinterest : ( click ! )

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ BACKSTORY ! ( tw : depression , murder , suicide & drug abuse )

born in 1953 to one of the wealthiest families in italy ! the argenti's posses a ridiculous and tbh kinda disgusting fortune because of their distant ties to the old italian monarchy ... and are also long rumored to have been cursed hundreds of years ago as divine punishment for the sins of a past family member .

the family has a long and gruesome history — good husbands turning into killers , more than one argenti woman flinging herself off one of the many balconies in the family estate , children who hear voices in the night . more often than people care to count , these fits of madness are seemingly inexplicable .

giovanna was born on chilly autumn night . she would be her mother’s first and last child , but lucianna argenti saw her baby girl as anything but a miracle . when she was only five months old , a nanny discovered the woman trying to drown giovanna in the bathtub , stuck in a trance she’d later have no recollection of being in . long in denial of the family curse , marco argenti hired nearly every notable doctor in italy , but none of them could find a sound explanation for the violent and nonsensical trances his wife would experience for the next three years before ultimately taking her own life .

leaving giovanna to grow up all alone in the too big family estate at the hands of nannies , marco argenti would spend the better years of his only daughter’s life traveling all around europe , desperate to shake the ghost of his wife , but never succeeding .

despite all the tragedy early on in gio’s life , she had an almost typical upbringing for someone in her socioeconomic circle . a childhood devoid of the love her parents were supposed to give , nannies who gave in to the rotten demands only a wealthy child and sole heir could conjure up , a house that never felt like a home .

by the time she was a teenager , gio had grown up to be a different kind of monster — not the madwomen her classmates would snicker about when speaking ill of the blood that flowed through her veins , but something perhaps more dangerous , a selfish girl too clever and too beautiful for her own good .

on the eve of her 18th birthday her father makes his grand return home , gone so long he mistakes his daughter for a maid before a groundskeeper politely informs him of his mistake . causing more tension still was the brand new gold band on his ring finger , as well as the announcement that he’s selling the estate , and that gio’s to come live with his new wife and three small children in france .

the day giovanna argenti turns 18 is a day she can no longer remember save for waking up in the remnants of a burnt down home , ash caked underneath her fingernails , smoke burning her lungs . servants who have been loyal to the argenti family for decades will later testify that there had been a terrible accident lighting the birthday cake that night , that marco argenti had never returned home the night before , and that the family of four in paris crying murder were nothing but scammers after the family fortune .

gio spends the next year scrambling to piece together the mysterious events , a tiny voice inside her head insisting something wasn’t right with the story she’d been fed by the people who raised her , albeit confused as to why they’d hide the truth if something sinister had indeed happened that night . she could have sworn the memory of her father coming home was a real one — until she gets a letter in the mail , signed marco argenti , polaroid attached , a blurry shot of a man who bears the family resemblance standing in front of the statue of liberty .

cue the drug abuse ( coke being her poison of choice ) , the reckless and dangerous stunts all in the name of having a good time , the mind numbing sex with strangers . heart heavy with the idea that she was indeed going insane , following in the footsteps of all the argenti’s that had come before her , giovanna was left with the haunting sensation that her life was already doomed , and so she might as well make the most of it . on the flip side of this she also came to the realization that she could pretty much .... do whatever she wanted and get away with it ? people already thought she was cursed and crazy ... might as well act the part ... a little self fulfilling prophecy ... as a treat <3

in a feeble attempt to save her from an untimely and rather stupid demise , she is shipped off to sacred heart academy , a place a distant cousin once attended . mind clouded by addiction and unresolved trauma alike , giovanna can’t be sure the strange happenings at sacred heart are real at all or just a product of a dark and overactive imagination .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ PERSONALITY + TIDBITS !

first & foremost ... gio was inspired loosely by some sexy women including miss effy stonem from skins , choi sooji from tempted , ludo from baby , villanelle from killing eve & lady macbeth minus the murder ( ... unless ? 😏 ) , as well as more lana del rey songs than i care to admit so we won’t be talking about it aha x

yes what i’m trying to say is she’s a little unhinged ... but in that fun sexy way like when amy dunne gives the cool girl speech in gone girl .

speaking of cool girls ... gio is one 😌 you would think growing up with a last name that’s literally famous for being cursed would have put a bigger damper on her popularity among people but there’s a certain fascination gio holds and she knows it . this isn’t to say she’s got a lot of friends because she definitely doesn’t , she just knows how to get people’s attention .

at her core she is clever , charming , everything someone who grew up with money is bound to be . but unlike the selfishness of other trust fund babies , gio’s operates on a different scale . she’s self obsessed , not because she views herself as better than anyone else , but because she’s so haunted by the idea that something terrible and wicked exists inside of her and it’s only a matter of time before darkness takes over .

in an effort to counter that weight , she breezes through life without taking much seriously . toying with people , the mind games she plays , it’s all an effort to distract herself , to entertain her brain with thoughts that somehow seem lighter in comparison to her own inevitable self destruction although the people she plays with�� might say otherwise .

consequences should scare her more than they do , but honestly she’s got a penchant for doing the things deemed bad for her . on one hand she figures little matters if she’s truly cursed , on the other hand she figures if she is cursed than whatever consequence comes her way is deserved .

flirty , but most of the time it never means anything . she is prone to intense infatuations , however , all of which have ended tragically so far so proceed with caution .

she’s definitely someone most people would know of , as she’s got an almost bad habit of striking up conversations with whoever , but ask someone to name her favorite color or any profound fact about her and they probably wouldn’t be able to .

very nosy due to her childhood of people watching and intensely studying the adults who raised her , and so the habit has carried on into her adult life . she won’t outwardly pry , but if you catch her interest she’ll unabashedly observe you like she’s an actor trying to better understand their part .

tons of fun at parties , but also in class , considering she’s snorting enough coke on the daily to treat school like it’s one big social gathering . life’s a beach baby <3

studying classics because she likes how intense the stories and history are , but she’s surprised herself by being rather good at the language aspect of the major .

deep deep down ... there is the desire to be understood and loved despite whatever uninhibited thing she’s convinced lurks around inside her but that is constantly in conflict with the idea that she’s fundamentally undeserving of real affection ... just girly things you know 🥺

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ WANTED CONNECTIONS ! ( all open to all genders )

my brain is quite literally all rot rn im just gonna list stuff with minimal elaboration please vibe with me ...

people she gets high with <3

ex infatuations that ended tragically lets get that angst

spare parental figures ... any professors out there want a demon child who will idolize u but not know how to deal with that so they just act up all the while hoping for forgiveness and the attention they never got from their own parents </3

speaking of professors i will play into the problematic trope of a student being obsessed with a professor -___- solely because i would lov to have gio go full throttle crazy ... as a treat ... this has nothing to do with that one line in lorde’s writer in the dark u know the one truly this does not have to be reciprocated at ALL

a confidant / someone she probably considers her closest friend who she is constantly disgusted with herself for opening up to but also truly not able to live without so it’s a fun cycle of push and pull but truly she’d probably die for them just don’t ask her that she’ll say no

i think it would be fun to have someone who knows about the supposed argenti curse maybe their family had some associations to gio’s or maybe they spent some time in italy at some point growing up and met her there idk im cute not smart ...

we’ve all been begging and begging i will jump on the bandwagon and ask for a sexy rival doesnt mean anything if u say i hate u after hooking up

someone she keeps bumping into when she’s sneaking out past curfew or cutting class and at first it was like dude seriously do we have to start alternating but now it turned into like wow i really hope we bump into each other again would u like a cigarette wanna listen to some music together

someone she sees a lot at stan’s place . perhaps on campus they have a very different relationship but off campus they feel free to have another

current hookups we love to see it there’s so many directions to go in maybe its purely a casual thing , maybe it’s casual for gio but not for them , or maybe gio’s the one like worm maybe i would like more than sex , maybe it’s like a we only hookup when we’re high at parties thing , perhaps it’s a secret hookup thing so it gets angsty

maybe a rival or someone she swears she hates and they swear the same but they accidentally bond along the way and it’s like well i thought i hated u but perhaps we are more similar than we thought but also we only know how to be enemies so how do we even move past this ...

perhaps someone gio goes to when she’s especially fucked up and they take care of her / start to resent her for seemingly caring so little abt her own well being and she resents them for caring too much bc it’s not liked she asked but she keeps showing up at their door and they keep letting her in

someone she can be in cahoots with ... go absolutely bonkers with knowing they won’t judge her and she won’t judge them

perhaps someone she can be a bad influence on

also someone who makes her want to be a better person bc we need balance

a group of girls gio can be like men r disgusting with but then they catch her hooking up with said stinky man and it’s just a cycle like please get some help luv

a dealer mayhaps ?

someone whose favorite pen she stole but blatantly lied and said she didn’t steal it but she uses it everyday in class so u know she did in fact steal ur pen

ok she’s out of juice i’m she

i wont lie to u ive been writing this all damn day … but we finally made it baby 😭😭😭 im sosososo sorry for the length & the wait … also i feel like my charas always change a lil once i actually start plotting & writing so sorry again if u see me finally writing as giovanna on the dash and ur like lit rally who is that … JSDBWJBDWBDJ also side note i promise u im almost done word vomiting all over the place but it must b said ... u know how there’s that trope that supposed insanity is like not always real like how female hysteria was a whole as thing or like how in haunting of hill house where the charas weren’t really haunted by ghosts at all more so by their trauma ... that was my whole inspo with the argenti’s like are they even cursed at all ? who is to say ... PLEASE come message me on discord to plot ! @ you are my soulmate ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172 maybe … give this a like if u wanna … do that hehehe thank u for reading all this ur so brave for that stay sexy stan loona x

#heretics.intro #╰ ♡ . 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚 ── ooc !#pls lets not talk abt the length the quality OR the lateness ... compliments only x #JSBDJWBDJWBDJWD

7 notes · View notes

starlightinhumanform · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Love: Chapter 6

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora

Summary: As the night continues to grow later, Glimmer is shocked by her own feelings. Thankfully, Adora is there for her.

Warnings (for this chapter): Descriptions of Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attack, Mild Language (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: This part gets pretty angsty but I promise it gets real fluffy (there’s only one bed) I hope you enjoy despite the angst!! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 The Art of Love Masterpost Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

Glimmer worked in silence, the only sounds were the soft rsssh her paint brush made as she swished it over clay. It was strange; just the way you can tell someone has walked in a room despite not hearing or seeing them, Glimmer could feel Adora’s presence in the room regardless of how quiet she was. And it wasn’t only quiet as in not speaking, it was as if the entirety of Adora’s being had had the volume turned down it. Glimmer was used to Adora’s energy filling all of the room as Glimmer just attempted to hunker beneath it. Now though, Adora’s presence was small, ebbing and flowing in minuscule tides as her chest rose and fell gently. So it was like Glimmer could feel Adora in the the room, but it was wrong, it was too small. It reminded Glimmer of just how human Adora was.

Only that afternoon Glimmer had been convinced Adora was a snake and a liar and the last thing Glimmer wanted to be near to. Now, she seemed a lot smaller, a lot more delicate, and a lot more authentic. The last few hours had been somewhere between a miracle and a disaster, but nowhere near normal. Glimmer almost felt the need to protect Adora as she sat there in a daze in the first silence she had had since Adora’s text.

That didn’t mean Glimmer liked the opportunity to think that the quiet was giving her; in fact, she was actively attempting not to. However strong her desire to avoid thought was, though, her mind’s insistent little voice was stronger. And it was suggesting things she didn’t liked.

You like her, don’t you? You think she’s pretty? You want too kiss her?

The paint brush rsssh-ed harder against the clay. No, no, and no.

Well that’s good because she would never like you back.

An involuntary sigh escaped out of Glimmer’s nose as her eyes bore pits into her carpet. Will you just leave me alone??

Oh I thought you said you didn’t care about her?

I said I didn’t like her, not that I didn’t care about her.

She risked a glance in Adora’s direction. Glimmer couldn’t deny the fact that she was beginning to care about her. If all that gentleness and sweet attitude was real, Adora was bound to get hurt or at least have one hell of a life. But then again, maybe she already did; Glimmer couldn’t help but wonder about Adora’s past and why she would have adoptive parents. Adora was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and then there was something about a question mark... Glimmer didn’t know the quote and honestly didn’t really care, but the truth held: there was a lot about this girl that Glimmer didn’t know.

As she watched, Adora shifted slightly so her hair fell forward and tangled in her eyelashes; Glimmer could practically feel her hand itching to brush it out of face. She scooted over to the sleeping form, not even thinking about her actions as she moved. Adora was directly below her now, curled but with her arms sticking out in front of her; it reminded Glimmer of a puppy. The golden strands of hair were tantalizing, seemingly crying out for Glimmer’s hand to tuck it behind the girl’s ear. It just looked so soft. Glimmer was, of course, most familiar with her own hair which was thick and wavy; she loved it but... Adora’s hair looked like silk and something in Glimmer wanted to become familiar with that too. Glimmer quickly reminded herself that she was only doing this because messy things bugged her and she would want to fix someone’s hair whether it was soft or not. Well in that case...

Resolved that she was only doing this because the out of place strands were bothering her, Glimmer reached forward, her hand once again shaking. It was surreal, watching herself reach out to Adora’s face, so close she could feel the girl’s breath fluttering on her hand. But the hair was so soft, softer than Glimmer could have ever imagined and she let herself play with it- couldn’t help it- the pieces of silk trailing between her fingers, wrapped up in them. And Adora’s face- just wow. Glimmer had never been this close, never really let herself appreciate it- that is, until now.

She was pale (Glimmer had known that much) with a soft blush and a sprinkling of freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. Her skin wasn’t perfect- she had acne like any teen- but it looked satiny as well. Adora’s eyelashes were long but that was probably helped by the mascara rubbing off on the bags under her eyes. Once again Glimmer wondered about how tired Adora was, how hard she pushed herself.

Glimmer couldn’t tear her eyes away, soaking in Adora like she was the first human she had ever seen. Her eyes glazed over as she stared downwards, lost in the thoughts that crashed against the sides of her head like waves that thundered and broke against a storm wall in an ocean marina. It hurt; her mind on the point of bursting, overfilled with ideas that warred against each other. She was jealous of Adora’s somehow unfailing beauty, of how much people loved her, of how the sun shone in the room when she walked in while Glimmer was treated as an unwanted inconvenience. There was disgust- disgust over Adora, over her popularity; a minute part of her convinced that all of this was one huge joke being played at her expense. Disgust washed over her once again, this time directed at herself for letting her guard down, falling for the joke, falling for Adora. God, there it is. Because it was true- mixed in with all these feelings was admiration, appreciation- for Adora’s eyes and her smile and her attitude and the way she sang and the way made Glimmer feel like she was floating away and she wanted to find more reasons, add to the list, everyday if she could. You could call it infatuation. Again, guilt and repulse came flowing against her. She shouldn’t like Adora, couldn’t; it was bad enough that she had to like girls, had to ostracize herself from the rest of the school- hell maybe the rest of the world- but this? Liking someone she had absolutely no chance with? She was just setting herself for rejection and another strong dose of humiliation.

In amongst her tumbling thoughts, the fact that Adora’s hair was still wrapped through her fingers had been forgotten. Glimmer had continued to absentmindedly run the strands through her fingers, the light, silky feeling in her hand grounding in a way she didn’t exactly understand. While most of Glimmer’s mind was occupied with confusion and confrontation, a tiny part had (literally) grabbed hold of Adora and was hanging on for dear life; she had tethered herself to the girl that was causing her so much pain.

As her mind became more agitated and convoluted, all her emotions one big tangle, she became less and less aware of Adora, her hands lost their careful gentleness. At one point, her hand had been completely disconnected from her thoughts and it gave a sharp tug that caused Adora to stir, her eyes flickering open.

The blue was still mostly covered by eyelids and glazed; Adora was squinting like she couldn’t tell what was going on. She glanced up, “Glimmer?”

Glimmer’s heart swelled against her will at the sleepy murmur and she tucked the hair she had been so fond of behind Adora’s ear- taking great care this time to be gentle, “No, it’s just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

Adora seemed to be following the whispered order, curling even tighter as she turned fully on her side. Glimmer reached behind her, grabbing a stray blanket, and draped it over Adora.

“Is too bad,” Glimmer had to lean forward to hear what Adora was muttering into the floor.

“What?” Her face was so close to Adora’s and she was being intoxicated by those sweet, earthy scents again.

“Is too bad it a dream.”

“Hmmm, I beg to differ,” And with that she bent to close the remaining few inches between them, placing her lips softly, but with solid pressure against the skin of Adora’s forehead.

Adora hummed happily and seemed to settle back into sleep; Glimmer stayed with her lips pressed to Adora for a few moments until her breathing was slow and regular.

And then it was over and Glimmer was sitting bolt upright and everything in her room was spinning and all of her thoughts- even the positive ones- were screaming. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??

Adora snuggled into the blanket thrown over her while Glimmer stumbled backwards, praying Adora didn’t remember the thing when she woke up. Glimmer’s heart was pounding as if she had just stepped off a roller coaster. This project was all kinds of hell that she hadn’t been expecting. There was a part of her that wished they could just go back to being strangers; well, maybe not strangers but very tense acquaintances. At least then Glimmer knew what she was doing- she might not have had control of the situation, but she had control over her body. Now, everything was spinning out her grasp like a shipwreck falling to the bottom of the ocean- and she was sinking along with it.

She glanced over at Adora and winced, remembering her actions as if they held the same guilt and regret she would have if she had murdered someone. Whatever the case, she had certainly doomed herself. There was no more hiding or blocking or disregarding how she felt, nothing to maintain the safe buffer she had created between her and Adora.

That didn’t stop her from trying, however. Thoughts raced through her head, each trying to beat the other to reaching a plausible excuse. It’s probably just the adrenaline- And your tired- And you’ve had a lot going on- You’re so so stressed- Besides, that could have just been like, friendly, right?- You weren’t thinking, and it was just a spur of the moment sorta gesture of appreciation or something like that.

Glimmer rolled her eyes at herself this time. You’ve had a crush on her all year so you might as well admit it.

She groaned and buried her head in her hands; if she was going to come clean to herself then she might as well do it wholeheartedly. It was true, the stupid stolen glances in Adora’s direction, the fascination with Adora’s glowing smile, her jealousy towards Cat for always having Adora’s attention. She had hidden it under all the contempt for Adora- and herself, her feelings- and now it was all rushing out, unable to stop the feelings when they were hitting her so quickly after so long. Stupid stupid stupid. If she had only been able to hold it at bay for a few more days, she could’ve just moved on from it all and ignored Adora for the rest of her life.

Once more, Glimmer wished she could reverse time to the way it had been before; it had been so much easier.

Adora chose this moment to stretch, startling Glimmer into backing fully into her dresser. As she hit the furniture, it hit the wall with a thunk that rattled the objects sitting on top of it and was sure to wake Adora. With Glimmer’s good (read: horrible) luck, she was surprised to find Adora still sleeping soundly after all the rattling had stopped.

Glimmer hated looking at the girl, cringing like it burned her, but she couldn’t look away. One of girl’s hands was curled loosely in a fist by her face and the other invisible beneath the blanket. Her hair had come completely undone and spread around her head, fanning out like an angel’s halo. Glimmer couldn’t tell if she wanted to stare at her forever or never see her again. Adora was gorgeous and Glimmer hated her for it.

Glimmer walked stiffly back to where she had been sitting before and made a silent promise to herself to pretend nothing ever happened; if Adora mentioned anything, she would deny it and call her crazy- easy peasy.

But the room was quite, void of noise except for the soft murmurs of Adora’s breath, and it left far too much room for Glimmer’s thoughts to fill the empty space. And, oh boy, were they loud, loud enough for it to feel like ten thousand little mini-Glimmers were yelling as they sprinted through her mind, their little purple sneakers slamming around and making her head pound.

The hopeful ones were the worst; the ones that whispered how happy Adora had seemed about the whole stupid kiss, about how she seemed to like Glimmer, and asked her to dance, and how Glimmer had made her laugh, and she was just so awed by Glimmer’s art. And and and and. Her mind kept coming up with teases Glimmer knew would be hopeless and ridiculous in the long run, but no matter how hard she tried to combat them with logic, they would pop up again like weeds in a garden.

Glimmer found herself throwing down her paint brush, not knowing how to deal with everything rushing through her head at once like cars going way above the speed limit on a highway, bound to crash. She pulled her legs up to her chest, taking the form of a ball and hoping it could keep her safe from the words pounding against the walls of her skull. Of course it did nothing to help and tears began leaking out the side of her eyes. This was like what? The fourth time she’d cried that day? It was ridiculous and exhausting and it was all Adora’s fault. Glimmer glared at the sleeping form whose peaceful rest was completely unaffected by the hurricane sitting only a few feet away. I hate you.

The air in the room was getting hard to breathe, filled with the smell of the forest that Adora carried and the ghost of her voice. The blood was rushing to Glimmer’s face, pounding in her ears. She felt like she was under water, thousands of feet of pressure above her, drowning in her own mind.

Glimmer straightened up and made her way unsteadily to the door; she just needed to get out, to get away from Adora. Her breath was ragged in her throat, every inhale catching like cloth on barbed wire, and she knew she was going to start full on crying, sobbing even, soon. The thought of that made it even harder to hold back.

She made it to the bathroom before the sobs started shuddering out of her, making all her other breakdowns that day look like a drizzle compared to a typhoon. Her hand slammed down on the counter, sending one of her mom’s hair products clattering into the sink. It was loud but she didn’t care, she could hardly hear it anyways. All of the competing thoughts had combined together to create thundering white noise in her head. Glimmer couldn’t hear a single voice rising above the rest, couldn’t feel anything; she was numb except for the growing pressure around her mind. She gripped her the edge of the sink and looked up into her reflection, eyes full of venom and tears.

She shut her eyes as tight as physically possible like she was trying to keep the hot tears from spilling out. The door creaked open behind her but she didn’t care; it did that all the time and she must not have shut it all the way. Glimmer was far too focused on trying to release the weight growing around her brain, like a boa constricting her thoughts from flowing the way she thought they should. She had very specific rules for herself, ones she would thought would keep her safe, keep her under the radar but now... those thoughts were running away from her in every direction. She banged her fist onto the counter once more and the ache in her hand was hardly a distraction. Her emotions were screaming and she wanted to scream back, shouting at them to fall in order.

She didn’t have time to pay attention to a an old door that couldn’t even manage to stay closed by itself; that is until it started speaking, “Hey there.”

Glimmer turned to face Adora with a stare that could have melted sand into glass, “Get out.”

Her voice would make most turn and run but Adora continued, “I heard something fall and it woke me up and you weren’t there but then I heard you-“

“Get OUT!”

Adora just blinked at her, almost uncomprehending, before taking a few steps towards Glimmer slowly and carefully like she was approaching a wild animal. And then her arms were a around Glimmer and Glimmer was forgetting how to breathe. Her body went rigid, her arms clamped to her side and her hands out straight like a wooden soldiers’. She didn’t know what the hell to do; she didn’t even know what she wanted to do. On one hand, she could give in- give into Adora, give into her stupid hug, give into the fact that she’d had a wildly obvious crush on the soccer player this entire time. Alternatively, she could take the easy route and simply push Adora away as she had been.

That’s when Adora apparently decided she wanted to make Glimmer to throw up because she leaned forward far enough to plant a soft kiss on Glimmer’s forehead.

Glimmer’s voice shook when Adora backed away after only a second, “What are you doing?”

Adora’s smile was horribly sweet, “You took care of me before, now I’m just taking care of you.”

Glimmer felt that she was on the verge of collapse; it been a long day, excruciatingly so. She legs and arms were shaking and her head felt light again, but not in any positive way, and she could swear the ringing in her ears was the last of her sanity leaking out of her body. Her mind was losing any traction it had left and her body was following it quickly, “I’m so tired.”

And with that Glimmer allowed herself to melt forward into Adora, tears dampening her red jersey. She had somehow managed curled inward and onto Adora at the same time.

Adora seemed to be handling the situation much better than Glimmer would have, offering comforting shushes and not complaining when Glimmer’s hands gripped the back of her jersey far too tightly. Her hand was rubbing up and down her back but Glimmer was hardly aware of the fact, simply letting go of the tension she had been holding since being assigned as partners with Adora, hell maybe since she had seen Adora in her chemistry class on the first day of school.

“Do you want to rest for a little while? Get some sleep?”

“What?” Glimmer took a hiccuping breath, the flood of tears hand begun to slow and was now coming almost completely to a stop. She looked up and straight into Adora’s blue eyes, filled with concern; she had forgotten how close their faces were to each other but the fact of the matter came crashing back to her with a force that almost knocked the wind out of her.

“I was asking if you wanted to take a break or go to sleep for a while?” Her voice was gentle but their chests were still more or less pressed together and Glimmer could feel the sound vibrating upwards. The clarity of the sound’s movement was startling but Glimmer didn’t move away.

She shook her head, “I need to get this done. If I don’t, our project’ll get marked down and then I’ll never get my chem grade up.”

Adora moved back, supposedly to make eye contact with Glimmer more comfortably, and Glimmer scolded herself for missing the warmth of the other girl’s body. Adora’s eye brows were crinkled and nudged at each other, “But... I told you before, I’ve seen your grades- and I’m so sorry if that sounds weird I really don’t mean it in a creepy way- but, like I said, your grades aren’t as as bad as Weaver makes it seem!”

Glimmer sighed and reached for her back pocket; by some miracle- or maybe a curse- the report card she had snatched off the counter earlier was still there, “You must have only seen my test scores- they’re fine. But my classwork is a disaster. It’s like I get the material and I can show that on tests, but I can never focus enough to do all the stupid busywork Weaver hands out. So my overall grade is... kinda trash.”

She handed the card over to Adora, watching with sweaty palms as she scanned down the row of letters.

She looked up after a moment, confusion written on her face, “How in the world do you have a C in art?! If anything, I’d expect you to have 100 percent!”

Glimmer shrugged her tired shoulders but she felt a smirk tugging its way along her lips, “I tend to interpret the prompts a little more... loosely than my teacher would prefer.”

She shrugged again, this time playfully, “What can I say, I like to have my own ideas about things.”

Adora mirrored her smile, “Yeah I’m sure you do.”

WHAT DID THAT MEAN?!

Adora didn’t go into it further, simply stretching her arms out to the side with a yawn. She handed the card back, “Well you’re right, we need to make sure we do well on this project so we can get that grade up.”

Glimmer’s heart wasn’t sure to plummet or rise; Adora had seen Glimmer’s bad grades and had agreed with her. On the other hand... “we” was starting to sound- maybe not great- but ok in Glimmer’s mind.

“So,” Adora continued oblivious to Glimmer’s revolving door of thoughts, “we- especially you, Miss I Don’t Need Sleep- should get some rest so we don’t make some stupid mistake that wrecks it. I want to do this well.”

Glimmer allowed Adora to lead her back to her room but stopped when she felt herself being pushed towards her bed, “Where are you going to sleep?”

Adora gestured casually at the floor and the blanket she had set aside when she had gotten up to check on Glimmer. The thought of her going out of her way to make sure she was all right made something inside Glimmer wriggle and she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way.

She shook her head, “No, you’re the guest. I may be a goblin, but my mother taught me some manners; she’d be horrified if she found out I’d let you sleep on the floor to begin with.”

Adora frowned, “Well I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor.”

Glimmer put her hands on her hips, a small mountain of stubbornness.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea- let’s just share it! It’s a big enough bed for the two of us!” Adora’s face had brightened considerably while Glimmer’s blanched to a sickly shade of green khaki.

“It’ll be fun- like a sleep over!” Adora continued her sales pitch, unaware or uncaring of how wide Glimmer’s eyes had gotten. Is this girl actively trying to drive me crazy??

Before she could make anymore arguments against it, Glimmer found herself being pulled along by Adora who, when having reached the bed, sat down and patted the space beside her.

Glimmer sat down stiffly and glanced over at the other girl, hoping she offer some sort of explanation of what she was supposed to do next.

Adora turned her head, “So do you want to take the wall side or the outside?”

“Uhhh... the wall; that’s where I usually sleep anyways,” Well if she didn’t have a choice...

“Ok great!” Adora stretched out, both of their shoes having been kicked off long before, and the action forced Glimmer to climb over to the other portion of the bed.

Glimmer threw a sheet over top both of their bodies and lay stiffly on her back. After a few moments she realized the lights were still were still on and she clapped her hands lightly to shut them off, careful to do it quietly in case Adora had already passed out again. Her idea was proved wrong when the silhouette next to her let out a little, “Ooo.”

She wasn’t sure if the sound was in response to the fact she had clap-on lights or because of the glow in the dark stars pasted on her ceiling that were now beginning to brighten. Glimmer stared at into their dim, green-yellow light as if they could offer answers. None were supplied.

Next to Glimmer, Adora had relaxed onto her side and in a matter of minutes was breathing heavily once more. The sound was somehow calming, inviting her to do the same, and despite the adrenaline running through her, Glimmer felt her eyelids growing heavier by the second.

——————————————————-

Glimmer had slept nearly an hour when a buzzing in her pocket woke her up and she realized she had gone to sleep in the pair of denim shorts she had worn to school the day before. She pulled the buzzing phone out of her pocket and the glaring blue light of its screen burned through the dark, making her squint. It was Bow, texting her for whatever reason at one in the morning:

Look I am SO sorry about that I know you wouldn’t want me to give your number out and you know I wouldn’t normally do that but Adora was kinda freaking out and she explained the situation to me so it made sense

I understand if you’re mad and I just really hope nothing bad happened

Glimmer looked down at Adora before deciding to reply. The girl was curled in a loose fetal position again, her hands near her face. In their sleep, the two had snuggled closer together and the curve of Adora’s back fit neatly alongside Glimmer’s stomach and hips. The proximity made Glimmer’s insides churn and the blood rush to her face, but she could also feel herself smiling down at Adora through the darkness. Glimmer reached out and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind Adora’s ear- for the last time, of course- and finally texted back:

Nah it’s ok.

40 notes · View notes

tempestuousheinousbitch · 6 years ago

Text

( brie larson, cisfemale, she/her, 27 ) — have you seen [ BOBBI MOORE ] around shermer? i hear they’re INDIVIDUALISTIC, but can also be TEMPESTUOUS A HEINOUS BITCH. they remind me of [ KAT STRATFORD from 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ], but it might just be me. last i saw them, they were working as a(n) [ JOURNALIST ].

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Roberta Jolene Moore NICKNAME(S): Bobbi, Bobbi Jo AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 27, 01/16/1992 OCCUPATION: Journalist GENDER: Cisfemale PRONOUNS: She/Her HOMETOWN: Seattle, Washington CURRENT RESIDENCE: Shermer, Illinois POSITIVE TRAITS: Individualistic, Eloquent, Organized, Purposeful NEGATIVE TRAITS: Tempestuous, Shrewish, Cynical, Scornful

BIOGRAPHY

non-consensual tw, implied rape tw

there is no greater comfort than the pitter patter of the rain. she loves it - craves it when it’s not around. perhaps that’s a result of growing up in washington state. rain was a constant in her youth, as well as douglas firs peaking out over silvery mist and slate colored skies. yes, it does rain in shermer, but illinois rainfall couldn’t compete with the damp autumns of the pacific northwest. it’s the one thing bobbi misses most as she sits before her laptop, bemoaning the writer’s block that’s keeping her page blank, a room temp cup of black coffee and a deap vally record all but forgotten to the blonde. if only it rained a little more the midwest.

roberta jolene moore was born the eldest of two daughters to an obstetrician and an aspiring writer. but let’s get one thing clear - her name is bobbi. she’ll murder you if you call her roberta. no one calls her roberta. not since the day her mom up and left the family without so much as an explanation. whoever roberta moore was died as the tail lights of her mom’s 1971 corola vanished into the horizon. it would be a few more hours before her dad or younger sister woke up to the news, but bobbi had already witnessed it. she supposed that was a day that a lot changed for her. all of those childlike qualities that little girls so naturally possess seemed to vanish over night. dad was going to need someone to look out for him, and her little sister was going to be in desperate need of a strong female presence. so bobbi filled the gaps that their mother’s departure left. she became a homemaker and a nurturer, a shoulder for her hysterical father and naive sister to lean on, and she became the backbone of a family that had suddenly lost their foundation.

of course this wasn’t the event that lead to the shrewish woman she is often condemned for today. no, maternal abandonment wasn’t going to be the thing that broke her. naturally, it was junior high. bobbi wasn’t exactly the most pretty thing around. like most ninth graders, she was a little awkward looking and experiencing the pains of puberty and acne. but she wasn’t bad looking either - at least, not to the class stud. for whatever reason they dated. probably because bobbi was a much different girl back then. she was someone who wanted to be accepted and who wanted to belong. which made it easy to get her to do what he wanted. all it took was some sweet words and enough wine coolers to cause bobbi moore to lose all inhibitions. she doesn’t remember much from that night. she remembers the music and the laughter of the party, and the first taste of alcohol. the rest was a blur, and her next clear memory was the following morning, laying naked and alone in the guest bedroom of her boyfriend’s house. it was easy to piece together what happened - she got drunk and she lost her virginity at the tender age of fourteen. something switched off for her in that moment, a feeling of discomfort. when her friends had written off the experience as “something she wanted” and “something teenagers all do”, she tried to write it off as all being okay. but of course, when her ‘doting’ boyfriend dumped her shortly after, the humiliation was enough to change bobbi. never again would she let other people’s expectations decide what she was going to do, and never again would she trust anyone else’s intentions with her.

that was the beginning to the bobbi moore evolution, though she isn’t one to admit it. it’s no one’s business why she’s the way she is or what lead to her being such a ‘heinous bitch’. she doesn’t really feel like she owes anyone explanations for the kind of person she is. she’s bobbi moore - shrewd investigative journalist, tempestuous ‘feminazi’ writer, abrasive and aggressively assertive liberal, whatever. she kind of just lets people say what they want to say. to correct them would mean that she cares about her reputation and in the immortal words of joan jett, she “ doesn’t give a damn about her bad reputation. ” if being the town shrew is the only way to keep people at arm’s length, then bobbi is all for it. or people who aren’t worth her time - if you’ve got even an ounce of originality and aren’t a walking and talking cliche then you just might be one of her close circle, the few people in shermer she actually likes socializing with and being associated with. it’s a wonder if there’s anyone that can tame her.

seems unlikely.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic LANGUAGES: English FAMILY: Walter Moore (father), Mrs. Moore (mother, estranged), Becky Moore (sister) PETS: a Husky named Ruth Bader Ginsbark and a Golden Retriever named Rosie The Retrieveter ZODIAC SIGN: Capricorn MBTI: ISTJ AESTHETIC: black coffee forgotten and cooled to room temperature; female musicians and feminist bands in vinyl only ( of course ); loose typewriter keys in her pockets; cracked brown leather jackets, vintage band tees; makeup-less face and messy buns; chipped black nail polish; coexist bumper sticker on a beat up 63 dodge dart; reading glasses sitting on the button of her nose, a finger shaped smudge on the right lens; concert ticket stubs, bleached shells, creased poetry slam programs, and scraps of old writing in a trinket box long forgotten in the far corner of the closet; freckles that only come out with the sun, sideways smirks and a mischievous twinkle in dark chocolate eyes; leather bound notebooks e v e r y w h e r e, blue ink stains on hands; long empty hours staring at pages and willing words to appear; nights spent alone and welcoming the solitude

WANTED CONNECTIONS

the brat pack - a close knit crew of like-minded individuals who rise above the regulars of shermer society. popular isn’t a word commonly used for this group and very likely would never be used. they’re the outcasts of society who dare to speak up for themselves and their beliefs. and bobbi loves how they challenge each other to think beyond themselves and the proverbial box which cages much of the “small minded simpletons of shermer society”. jesse shah, open

the vapid one - the epitome of what bobbi hates the most in most people. the white knight of the status quo, the personification of banality, a loathsome creature of society who coasts the mainstream and has made a happy place there. they’re very unlikely to contain an original thought, and it bothers bobbi to no end. yet she’s ardently fascinated with this cliche and despite her best efforts cannot seem to stay away. heather mcnamara

the contender - unlike the vapid one, the contender is someone that bobbi doesn’t just loath for being just another cog in society’s machine - she despises them for the way they unapologetically flaunt it in her face. these two are always at war, constantly bemoaning the other’s existence and arguing over every stupid little thing they can think of. they could probably start a heated debate over the state of the weather if they wanted to - these two can never see eye to eye, and it’s better to steer clear of them when they’re in close proximity to one another. that is, unless you want to witness the pair butting heads again. open

more to come. i’m too lazy to think of anything else ahfiehapfheiapfhea

#* i’m your hell i’m your dream i’m nothing in between ( about. )#shermerintro #I hate this one more than I hate luca’s #ajdjchshhxhws

3 notes · View notes

neonlights92 · 7 years ago

Text

MONSTER: Chapter: V

You live in a world dominated by monsters. Monsters who make it their life’s work to control everything around them. When you’re forced to marry Kim Taehyung - the indecipherable son of the leader of Bangtan, Seoul’s most feared gang - you are at first afraid of him. But as you learn what it means to be Taehyung’s wife you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him.

WARNINGS: sex, implied violence, language.

–

You were cold.

You opened your eyes to adjust to the damp, dark room you were in. Your hands and feet were bound, and you had been placed rather unceremoniously on the floor.

Your head was aching and you were sure you could pass out from the pain.

“Boss. She’s awake.”

You snapped your gaze over to the young man looming in the doorway. He was dressed in black, and you were struggling to identify who he was.

The door cracked open and white light streamed through, casting the room with a dull sheen. Another figure joined the one stood at the doorway. He was taller than the man that had been keeping watch over you, and his shoulders were broader.

He came towards you and you felt your heart constrict in your chest.

“Mrs Kim,” He bent down when he was close enough, “What a pleasure.”

You recognised that voice.

It was the same man who had held a gun to your head at Taehyung’s father’s funeral.

“What do you want?” You asked, surprised you even had it in you to speak.

You were so tired.

“Let me begin by apologising for our rather…uncomfortable meeting,” He ignored your question, “My name is Xiumin. I run a business very similar to your husband’s. But I’m tired of being second best to Bangtan.”

Exo.

You didn’t know much about gangs in Seoul, but you did know that Xiumin was the leader of Bangtan’s most aggressive enemy. Exo hadn’t been around for as long as Bangtan had, but they had made their desire to become the best incredibly clear over the years.

“Did you murder Taehyung’s father?”

Xiumin smiled viciously, “Don’t worry sweetheart. If you play nice, I’ll make sure you don’t meet the same fate. It would be cruel to take out V’s father and his wife all in the same week.” He scoffed, “And I’m not a monster.”

You blinked back the tears biting at the back of your throat. Your refused to cry in front of him.

He was ruthless and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you scared. You tried to calm your racing heartbeat.

You were still alive.

If they’d wanted to kill you, surely they would have done it already. At least that’s what you hoped.

“What are you going to do with me?”

Xiumin grabbed your chin and you winced at the strength of his fingers on your skin, “I’m going to make V an offer he can’t refuse.” He smirked sadistically, “Your life in exchange for his land.”

You knew that was the dispute that had been raging between the two gangs for almost twenty years now. Exo claimed that Bangtan had set up shop on their turf, and there had been more than a little blood spilled over it.

“Gangnam belongs to Exo,” Xiumin’s nostrils flared in anger, “It always has. I’m merely taking back what is ours.” With that he released your face and you tried not to flinch at the lingering pain.

You were sure his touch had bruised you.

“What if he doesn’t cooperate?” The question frightened you. You didn’t know what Taehyung would do. Were you worth giving up that land?

Were you worth anything to him at all?

Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity for him to get rid of you without having to do it himself. The thought brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Xiumin gave you a dark look, “You’d better pray that he does cooperate darling. Or things will get very messy, very quickly.”

The words felt like ice as Xiumin stood up and stalked over to the doorway, “Make sure she eats something when I send some food your way. We wouldn’t want her to starve before her husband has the chance to see her.” He gave the order to his soldier, and disappeared outside.

You shivered against the cold floor.

Xiumin’s words had frozen you down to the tips of your toes.

If Taehyung didn’t want to negotiate, that was it. Your life was in the hands of a heartless killer who seemed to want nothing more than to rip Bangtan to pieces from the inside out.

The soldier at the door was still covered by darkness.

“I need a drink,” You told him.

Your mouth felt like sandpaper.

He grunted, “You’ll drink when the boss wants you to drink.” A rush of anger filled you.

“You know V isn’t the forgiving type,” You told him seriously, “He’s going to massacre every single one of you. There won’t be any negotiations. You’ll all be dead.”

You spat the words venomously, hoping against all hope that somewhere in the depths of his heart Taehyung would find it in him to come to your rescue, no matter the odds.

The soldier said nothing, and you closed your eyes, giving way to the tiredness that was building inside of you.

Soon, you fell asleep.

–

You woke up to someone practically force feeding you.

It was the soldier who had been keeping watch over you.

“Come on. The boss wants you to eat,” He didn’t seem cruel, “Sit up so I can feed you.”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.”

“You need your strength.”

“I said I’m not hungry.” You repeated the words and turned your face away from the mush he was attempting to push into your mouth.

After a moment’s hesitation, he set the plate down to one side and offered you a glass of water, “You said you were thirsty.”

You nodded, and accepted the water readily. How long had it been since you’d been captured? An hour? A day? A week?

You weren’t sure.

“When is Xiumin going to make arrangements with Taehyung?”

“I don’t know. I take orders, I don’t ask questions.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away from him. It didn’t matter anyway.

You knew how this was going to end.

And it was going to end badly.

You were sure Taehyung would never sacrifice Gangnam to keep you safe. Your husband was, above all, a businessman and the risk wasn’t worth the reward.

Your chest tightened, “I’m cold,” You told him almost angrily.

The soldier grunted, “I’ll ask the boss if I can bring you a blanket.”

“I hope your husband does cooperate,” His eyes roved your face carefully, “For your sake. Xiumin is not a merciful man.”

You turned away from him without saying anything.

There was a beat of silence before the soldier stood, and made his way back to his position by the door.

Later on that night he brought you a blanket, and in return you ate the cold food he had tried to feed you.

Then, you slept.

–

You woke to the sound of a loud crash.

You sat up, struggling against your restraints.

The soldier at the door snapped to attention. He tightened his grip on his gun.

“What was that?” You asked desperately, fear gripping you.

He opened his mouth - to give you an answer or tell you to shut up you weren’t sure - When the door swung open.

He fell back from the force.

You blinked at the light streaming in, your heart pounding against your chest. Were you going to die?

A figure appeared in the doorway and instantly your body relaxed.

Taehyung.

“Y/N?” He ran towards you, his hands coming to cup your cheeks, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, giving way to the tears that had been scratching at the back of your throat.

You felt guilty.

How had you ever thought that Taehyung - the man you had fallen in love with - would ever leave you at the mercy of his enemy? The tears dripped down your chin, and your husband wiped them away.

“It’s okay,” He whispered, “I’ve got you here. I’m here.”

You nodded, because you were sure you couldn’t speak, and watched as two other men entered the room. Hoseok and Jungkook had their guns cocked, and the younger spared you a terse smile.

“V, we have to get her out of here now. I’m not sure how much longer we’ve got.”

Taehyung didn’t answer, instead bringing out a knife and using it to cut your restraints. He pulled you up.

“Lean against me if you need to,” He told you, “We’ve got to leave.”

You followed him as he led you outside, and your eyes adjusted to the dull light. Jungkook and Hoseok had kicked open the front door of the warehouse you’d been inside. When you stepped outside, you realised you’d been by the sea.

“Jimin’s got the car round the back,” Hoseok said, grabbing you by the shoulders and helping to move you along, “Come on we’ve got to get out of here before they realise what’s happened.”

There was a white van waiting for you, it’s engine still running. Jimin smiled as Jungkook pulled open the double doors at the back and helped you climb inside. Yoongi sat in the passenger seat at the front.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung sat you down with your back leaning against the wall of the car, “Do you need some food or something to drink?” Hoseok slammed the back door shut and told Jimin to step on it.

You shook your head and leaned yourself against your husband’s warm body. You didn’t care what he thought about the display of affection; you were tired and cold, and you’d missed him so much.

You closed your eyes and Taehyung brought an arm around your shoulders, tightening his grip and dropping a kiss on the top of your head. Your heart turned at the gesture, but you were too tired to do anything.

Instead you hummed quietly, happy that you were finally safe.

“Sleep, Y/N.”

His words helped you relax even further, and soon you were drifting off, dreaming of Taehyung’s smile and the way he held you.

–

You woke up in your bedroom at home.

You were alone.

Soft sunlight was streaming in through the partly open blinds. It must have been some time in the morning.

You tried to sit up and winced. You might not have been directly injured, but your body was in pain from the extended hours spent on the cold, damp floor.

The door to the bedroom opened and your husband stood in front of you.

“You’re awake,” He said, walking quickly towards you and setting down the tray of food he was carrying.

You cocked your head to one side, “Is that for me?”

The question threw him off, “What?”

“The food,” You clarified, “Were you bringing that in for me?”

“Oh.” His eyes softened, “Yes. I thought you might be hungry.”

Your eyes widened and you blinked at him, confused.

“Why?”

He bit his bottom lip, “Why… what?”

“Why did you bring it in for me? Why didn’t you ask Mi Na to do it for you?”

You weren’t trying to give him a hard time. But you couldn’t understand his actions.

“Because you deserve it.” He sat at the edge of the bed, “Because I am an asshole who certainly does not deserve you. And because… I want to be the kind of husband who does things like this.”

You were sure your mouth couldn’t open any further. You stared at him in shock.

“What are you talking about?”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, “When Xiumin took you away from me, I realised what a complete moron I’ve been. Pushing you away because somehow I thought it was easier for the both of us. I don’t want you us to fight like that again. I don’t want you to have to doubt my feelings for you, when you seem so sure about what you feel for me. Y/N, love is a risk in our world, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

His words felt like fresh water, washing away all your insecurities.

You watched him carefully, heart pounding against your ears. Were you dreaming? Was this real?

Your bottom lip trembled, “Do you mean it?”

He groaned loudly, leaning forward and taking your face in his hands, “Of course I mean it.” He rolled his eyes almost playfully, “I think for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to want to take care of someone. I never want to see you hurt again, Y/N. I want to protect you for the rest of our lives.”

And then, you were crying.

Heart wrenching sobs that racked your entire body.

Taehyung pulled you towards him, and you realised that this was the first time your husband was hugging you. He ran a hand through your hair, kissing your brow and wiping away your tears.

“Please don’t cry anymore,” He whispered, “I can’t take it when I make you cry.”

“These are happy tears,” You told him, “I promise.”

And then he kissed you.

His lips pressed to yours softly and as always, you yielded under his power.

The kiss was charged with nothing but the need to express to each other how deep your feelings ran. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer towards you, needing more.

He pulled away and smirked, “Y/N, I’m trying to be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” You told him earnestly, “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me? I want you to make love to me. Now.”

You surprised yourself with your boldness, and your husband arched an eyebrow at you.

“Your wish is my command, darling.” He smiled darkly at you, and you leaned back, allowing him to trap you with his body, “I missed you,” His words were laced with honesty, and you felt your heart wilt, “I thought I was going to go crazy without you. I swear to God, when I saw Xiumin with hands around you at my father’s funeral, I wanted to kill him.”

“Shh,” You pressed one of your hands to his mouth, “Let’s not think about that right now. I want to have sex with you.”

Your cheeks flushed at your words, but at that moment you didn’t care all too much.

The way Taehyung was looking down at you, like you were the only woman in the world, was driving you crazy.

“Kiss me,” You told him softly, and he complied.

His mouth tasted as sweet as it always did, and you arched your body against his. This was where you were meant to be. You understood now the complexities of the man kissing you.

Taehyung wasn’t just one shade. He was complicated and dangerous, and even a little intimidating. But all those things didn’t matter to you, because when he kissed you, he put everything he had into it.

He kissed you like he was never going to see you again.

He kissed you like you were the most important thing in his life.

He kissed you like he loved you.

When he pulled away and trailed his lips down the column of your throat, you moaned. He paused for a moment, smirking against your skin, “Are you getting excited, Y/N?”

You knew you should be embarrassed by your behaviour, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Taehyung.” He knew what you were asking, and soon he had travelled down the length of your body, removing the thin nightgown you were wearing and settling between your thighs.

He kissed the space between your legs, “I love the taste of you,” He growled, causing shivers to run up your spine.

When he slipped a finger inside you, you gasped, pressing your back against the mattress.

Taehyung had known exactly how to please you from the moment the two of you had spent the night together, and now that he had confirmed his feelings for you, everything just felt a hundred times better.

He ran a hand along your thigh, kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hadn’t come undone from his ministrations, and you whined into his mouth.

“Patience,” He laughed gently, “I want to make this last.”

He took a nipple in his mouth and suckled on the rosy bud, pulling away from it with a pop. When he looked up at you, your heart turned over in your chest.

He looked so beautiful.

His beamed at you, his boxy smile stealing the breath right out of your lungs. His hair was pointing in every which way, and his eyes were roving your face carefully.

And he was all yours.

You grabbed his face and tugged him towards you, kissing him gently when his lips neared your own.

“I love you,” You breathed, when he pulled away.

His eyes, which had been closed during your kiss, opened slowly and he watched you carefully. He didn’t seem angry at your words, or even surprised. He just seemed to be considering what you said.

He sighed, “I know.”

You held your breath. Was he going to say it back?

“I love you too,” He answered, pressing a hand against your cheek, “Against all odds, against all fucking reason, I love you Y/N.”

Your heart felt like it was going to explode right out of your chest.

“Please make love to me,” You whimpered, “I’ve wanted it for so long.”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours intensely as he slid inside you. You felt complete.

This was exactly where you were always supposed to be.

Taehyung was your home.

“You’re beautiful,” He told you as he thrust inside of you, dropping kisses along your collarbone and shoulders, “You’re beautiful and you’re all mine. I’m sorry about what I said the other day I was stupid. I never tried to manipulate you Y/N. God you’re the only person I can really be myself around.”

You felt tears rush to your eyes at his apology.

“It’s alright, Taehyung.”

“No it’s not,” He pressed his nose into the column of your throat, “I’m never going to deserve you.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tighter towards you as you both reached your highs. He slipped a hand in between your bodies, playing with your sensitive bud and causing your body to jerk in ways you never thought possible.

And then you came undone, spasming around him and holding onto his back tightly. He kissed you roughly, whispering words of affection as his own climax came.

There was a moment of silence, where Taehyung buried his nose into your neck, and you both paused. Then he rolled off you before pulling you towards him.

“That was amazing,” You told him honestly.

He smirked and tugged his eyebrows up, “I know.” You slapped his arm playfully, and he kissed your temple, “I know it was.” This time his tone held a shade of warmth you’d never heard before, “Thank you.”

You didn’t know what he was thanking you for, but nonetheless you smiled, pulling his face towards yours, and kissing him softly.

“I love you,” You whispered, and he smiled back at you.

“I love you too.”

–

#bts #bangtan #bts smut #bangtan smut #kim taehyung smut #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #army #min yoongi #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #love #romance #arranged marriage #mafia au

2K notes · View notes

displacedprincess · 7 years ago

Photo

Elena Flores/Ximena Delejos Big-Ass Character Sheet

sometimes I'm so carefree/ with a joy that's hard to hide / and sometimes it seems that /all I have to do is worry / and then you're bound to see my other side / i'm just a soul whose intentions are good / oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

mira bien / todo va mal y todo está al revés / y tal vez no haya una segunda vez / para mirar las rosas rojas del edén

original sin / genetic fate / revolutions, spinning plates / it's important to stay informed / the commentary to comment on / oh, and no one ever really knows you, and life is brief / so I've heard, but what's that gotta do with this black hole in me?

i could feel myself falling from an aeroplane / i hear static when I close my eyes / i imagine one day things settling / and i think about what that might be like

NAME

Full Name: Elena Débora Nayaraq Viridana Maite Paqui Castillo Flores Origin: Most of Elena’s name is Spanish in origin, with Maite being a name Spanish has borrowed from Basque origin, Paqui being a name from the Nahuatl verb ‘to be happy’, and Nayaraq being a Quechua name meaning “one who has many desires.” Quechua is the most common language of the indigenous Avaloran population, and the Avaloran people have a strong connection with the Nahuatl speakers of Mexico and Central America (not to mention the small but considerable diaspora population inside of Avalor). Meaning:

Elena - light

Débora - Spanish form of Deborah, biblical, bee

Nayaraq - Quechua origin, one who has many desires

Viridana - from the Latin word "viridis", meaning "green"

Maite - Basque origin, love

Paqui - Nahuatl origin, to be happy

Nickname/Alias: In Swynlake, she goes by Ximena Delejos. Title: Her Majesty Crown Princess of Avalor Pet Name: Gabe and other close friends call her Elenita. Signature: Elena’s print is neat and a little tight but not difficult to read. Her cursive is painfully fancy, even she rolls her eyes.

STATS

Gender: Cisfemale Gender Presentation: Elena presents in a stereotypical feminine way most of the time. She’s comfortable in dresses, with makeup, all the stereotypical “girly” things. Orientation: Non-heterosexual, but exactly what is still up in the air. Real Age: 22 Age Appearance: Elena does look a little mature for her age and is often assumed to be around 25. Birthday: November 16, 1994 Birthplace: Avalor City, Avalor Astrological Sign: Scorpio Zodiac Sign: Dog Primal Zodiac Sign: Octopus Celtic Tree Zodiac: Reed Hogwarts House: Huffledor Divergent Faction: Divergent - Amity + Dauntless Moral Alignment: Chaotic good MBTI Personality Type: ESTP Temperament: Sanguine Enneagram: Type 4, The Romantic Vice: Envy Virtue: Kindness

FAMILY

Immediate Family: Elena was raised by her parents until their murders when she was 15. Her father was King Raul (fc: Ricky Martin) and her mother was Queen Luisa (fc: Gaby Moreno). When they were killed, her grandparents took over the role. She has a little sister Isabel, and they are close with their older cousin Chancellor Esteban, aged 30, (fc: Oscar Isaac), whose mother was Queen Luisa’s older sister who gave up her claim to the throne to marry a common man of Cuban descent. Part of Esteban is jealous, and wishes his mother didn’t give up her right to the throne so he would be the king instead of just the Chancellor, but Esteban cares for his younger cousins and supports Elena’s claim to the throne since it is what it is; he’s more content with it knowing that Elena trusts him and values his advice, even if she doesn’t always follow it. He acts as Elena’s main point of information regarding goings on in Avalor. Distant Family: Many cousins and second cousins, like a lot. Parenting: Elena’s parents were strict to an extent, like as royals there were certain expectations, but they tried to make sure their daughters had a childhood. Upbringing: Elena was taught that being royal didn’t make her better than anybody else. She was taught that the responsibility of the monarchy was to rule with compassion and to look out for their people. Elena’s expanded this to care about everybody.

PERSON

Species: Human, Magick

Ethnicity: Latinx, Avaloran wih Guatemalan and Puerto Rican roots

Blood Type: O-

Preferred Hand: Left-handed

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Brown-black

Hairstyle: Elena typically wears her long, thick, curly hair like

this.

Lightly groomed with messy pieces tied back for convenience. Sometimes in an

updo

Skin Tone: Light brown

Makeup: Elena does her eyebrows up real nice every day, but other than that prefers light makeup for most days.

Build: Slim and toned, proportional

Height: 5′4

Cup Size: C

Shoe Size: 7 1/2 US

HEALTH

General Health: Elena is typically slow to fall ill, but she’s a baby when she’s sick. She haaaaates being ill. Energy: Too! Damn! Much! Memory: She remembers just about everything and really, really wishes she didn’t. Senses: Elena requires corrective lenses, usually she just wears contacts. Allergies: Elena is allergic to wasps and carries an epipen on her person. Medication: She’s currently not on medication, but she was on effexor for a while after her parents’ were killed. Phobias: Wasps, claustrophobia, the dark Addictions: None Mental Disorders: was diagnosed with depression after she failed to cope after her parents’ deaths, but she was taken off of her medication a year and a half after starting it and it seems she’s herself again

Occupation: Crown Princess of Avalor / Unemployed and seeking Work Ethic: Elena takes everything she works for seriously, be it leading her country or mixing drinks. Rank: Crown Princess / ?? Income: Right now, none Wealth Status: Aristocracy, royalty.

Education: The highest level of education Elena has so far is university. Instead of going to university at Oxford or Ivy League like most of Avalor’s aristocracy, Elena chose to attend uni at one of Avalor’s public universities, University of Avalor - Avalor City. She was primarily castle-schooled for her primary and secondary education and she completed it and went onto university when she was 16. School: UAAC or U doble-A C said aloud, is the largest university in Avalor. It has degree programs taught in Spanish, Portuguese, and English, and attracts students from all over the Americas and Europe. Students from the US come here because it is cheaper than a US school. Grades: Elena was a mostly A students with Bs in subjects she struggled with. Special Information: Elena graduated summa cum laude from UAAC. UAAC also has a small Greek life community, one of the few universities outside of the US participating in Greek Life. Elena joined the [fictional] Lamba Mu Theta social sorority. She was also active in numerous clubs, a choral music and show choir student org, and participated in student senate. Social Stereotype: At first glance people thought the princess would be a spoiled brat, but the turned out to be the biggest nerd and cupcake. Degrees: Elena double majored from the get-go, took summer classes, and studied some more to get another degree so she holds three bachelors’ degrees; one is a B.A. in International Studies with a concentration in Global Governance, Human Rights, and Law, another is a B.S. in Bioengineering with a concentration in immunoengineering, and the third is a B.A. in Linguistics with a concentration in sociolinguistics .

#&&...hc

2 notes · View notes

hjsnina · 8 years ago

Text

Jerome Valeska x Fearless!Reader- Dauntless (14+)

A/N: Words: 1,294. Jerome’s OC for a little bit, but gets back in character in the end.

Warnings: kidnapping, guns, language.

There wasn’t a single soul that could make (Y/N) quiver. There was not one that could give her fearful goosebumps, nor made her shake in her boots. As her heels clicked against the concrete pavement, gun in hand, she felt that she was being followed. As she turned around, she was met face to face with the barrel of a gun. The owner was the one and only Jerome Valeska. “Why have you been following me?” (Y/N)’s voice, filled with annoyance, spoke as she rolled her eyes.

“I thought you looked like the perfect person to be my new best friend,” Jerome laughed, and the barrel of the gun shook due to his cackles.

“Listen, Sweetheart, I don’t do friendship. Now leave me alone,” (Y/N) turned away about to walk away from the criminal, but he roughly grabbed her arm.

“That wasn’t a request,” he spoke as he hit (Y/N) in the head with his gun.

(Y/N)’s eyes opened to the white walls of an unknown room. Unbeknownst to her captor, she struggled on the nylon rope that bound her hands together against the back of the wooden chair that she was sat on. She took a deep sigh through her nose, and remained still. She knew that her (H/L) hair was messy, and as a matter of fact couldn’t give two fucks due to her situation. The duct tape that forced silence upon her lips was beginning to annoy the girl as she attempted to get it off sliding her tongue against the adhesive side of the assumptive silver tape.

Furious, (Y/N) screamed against the tape in attempts to get the attention of her captor whom is no where to be seen. Moments later, the ginger to whom (Y/N) was trying to get the attention of walked in the room blood from the soaken blade dripping across the wooden floorboards. “Sorry I kept you waiting, Dollface. I was kind of busy for a moment,” he spoke kissing her forehead, and his smile when he pulled away forced (Y/N) to cringe in dissatisfaction. She attempted to get the message across the that she wanted the tape stuck to her mouth off of her lips.

“Does my best friend want the tape removed from her beautiful lips?” Jerome asked rhetorically. (Y/N) nodded her head in response. “Alright,” Jerome said, “but only if I can kiss you.” (Y/N) thought about whether or not to accept his offer. Although she hated to be restrained in such a way that no one could hear her voice, the thought of kissing the ginger repulsed her. (Y/N) closed her eyes to hear the ominous voice of her captor once more, “So nod or shake your head if you’d kiss me I suppose. Yes, you will, or no you won’t.” Slowly she nodded her head.

Jerome tore the tape off of her mouth, but instead of going straight for her lips he took the cap off of the chapstick that was in his pocket spreading it along her lips. “Now, we can’t let you have your lips be dry, now can we?” Jerome asked as he put the cap back on stashing it away once again. He placed his callused hands against the soft skin of (Y/N), and tilted her head up so that their lips could touch ever so gently.

Although everything in his life told him to kiss her roughly, Jerome kissed her passionately- as if he was kissing the most expensive fine china. (Y/N)’s heart felt as if it was going to explode out of her chest as their lips melted together almost as if they were meant to come together. Their eyes fluttered open as Jerome broke the kiss. “Jerome-” a voice came from the doorway. A pop sounded from Jerome’s gun as it shot the man dead. Jerome hadn’t broken eye contact with her.

“He was a bastard for trying to ruin our moment,” Jerome chuckled.

“So you felt it too?” (Y/N) spoke. (Y/N) hoped that she could trick him into removing the binds from her wrists and ankles if she made him fall in love with her.

“The feeling like our souls were meant to be together in every life that we’ve ever lived? Yeah,” Jerome half smiled. “If I remove you from your binds will you promise to stay until the morning? A lovely lady like you shouldn’t be roaming the streets. You could be murdered. I mean, as a serial killer myself, I would prefer to kill people at night, because there’s less people to be witnesses. So please stay with me at least until the morning, and if you want to go I’ll let you.”

“Fine,” (Y/N) whined obliging to the madman’s terms. “Also I’m just letting you know that I’m not afraid of nobody. Not you, not no rapist serial killer bastard. Nobody.”

“Fine have it your way. Well, Beautiful, I still don’t know your name, but I’d be willing to have you spend the night,” Jerome laughed as he untied (Y/N)’s rope.

“(Y/N),” she spoke.

“Suits you,” he replied untying the last one. He took her hand into his, and brought her through the doorway where the dead man fell, and went into Barbara’s room. “You look to be about the same size as her. Just pick something out, and meet me in the third room to the left.” Jerome left the room shutting the door behind him.

I could leave through the window, she thought. She casually walked to the window and opened it raising her eyebrow at the presumptive deadly fall. Never mind then. Alright, (Y/N). You are in the house of a lunatic serial killer, and he’s chosen you of all people to keep as his little pet for the time being. Should we play it safe, or go all out?

A voice that sounded like her own replied, “Obviously we should go all out.”

In the closet, there was a set of lingerie which she assumed didn’t fit her, so she went with the body-con black dress which bore lace along the sides and around her stomach. The obvious v-neck showed off just enough sexiness that if she needed to be a whore she could, but since she assumed she was just going to sleep she picked up a button up that smelled like the cop, Jim Gordon, that she had relations with the previous week.

To mask the smell she sprayed perfume, and then walked into the hallway wearing only the same pair of panties and Jim’s shirt. Her fingertips danced along the hallway’s left wall as she counted the doorways in her head finally landing on the third one and turning the handle. “Good evening, Jerome,” she spoke to get his attention away from the news.

“Miss (Y/N), good evening,” Jerome replied eyeing the woman up and down. “They’re looking for you, you know. Someone apparently called in a missing persons report.”

“I’ve been ‘missing’ for over 24 hours?” she questioned laying down on the bed next to him.

“Yes, Ma’am. Now, you aren’t going to leave me in the morning right, (Y/N)? You’re going to stay with me and be my partner- in crime and in the relationship aspect. You aren’t going to be a dirty, rotten, whore, right (Y/N)?” Jerome asked holding the barrel of his gun up to her forehead once again his face less than an inch to hers.

In that moment, (Y/N) came to a terrifying realization. She was terrified, however not by the gun’s barrel that was rested on her head, but because the rapid beating of her heart was caused by her love for the man who was so close to her she could feel his breath. “I’d never leave you, Jerome.”

(Y/N) was afraid of love.

#jerome valeska x reader #gotham #gotham imagine #jerome valeska

117 notes · View notes

seracross · 8 years ago

Text

Heart of Fire - Chapter Twelve: Bookwyrm

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

"All of Caelus’ notes are on these shelves," Sulaer said, waving to a bookcase brimming with old books and older scrolls. Some laid sideways, still open, while others had free pages poking out of them. "I tried to organize them, but they just never seem to stay put. You can blame Ristau for that."

Syra pulled one with roughened edges from a shelf and leafed through it. Her jaw tensed, overwhelmed by the mass of messy script and sketches smiling up at her.

"I know it looks daunting," Sulaer said. "Believe me, I've spent decades pouring over these things and I'm still puzzled by some of his spelling."

"And you expect me to find something you haven't?"

Sulaer grinned and took the book from her hands, sliding it back in its place, "I expect Valen's apprentice to give it her best shot."

"You know him?" Syra knew her mentor had a reputation, but was surprised by its reach.

"All the Kesh Raza know him. But he was also a study partner of mine back in Sylvani."

"You went there, too?" Syra broke into a whine. "I am so jealous."

Sulaer laughed and patted her on the shoulder, "Well, there's plenty to learn here!"

"If I can even understand any of it."

To say there were many tomes would be an insult. Sulaer’s lab might as well have been a library with the occasional bench and cabinet. One with writing’s Syra had never seen, on subjects she had never seen, and most all of them were written in Talian.

"Don't you worry. I took notes on Caelus’ notes, and they're much more organized."

Syra forced her unease down and took a long look about the room, steeling herself, "So, where do we start?"

Sulaer guided her through the makings of the spell first. Its foundations and procedure, and why this was added with that. Over the next couple days she gave demonstrations, showing how the different ingredients interacted under different conditions, and translating along the way. Syra was relieved that her room was adjacent to the lab as they rarely left, even for sleep. After days of introduction and mental drilling, Syra had a rudimentary hold on the language and was able to read and deduce for herself with the use of Sulaer’s notes.

"Now, the experiments start," Sulaer said, gathering her notes.

"Experiments?"

Sulaer grinned, "Today, I take you to the shard."

Further into the academy, where wooden walls became carved from stone, the shard slept in an iron case within a room stained, charred, and fractured by the years of failed trials. The cabinets were stocked, but the shelf-lined walls were bare, their contents moved to a safer location—which would explain the lab’s overabundance—and the acrid air stung Syra’s nose hairs.

“You’ll get used to it,” Sulaer said, seeing her crinkled nose, “but do make sure to take a break now and again.”

Peering into the box, Syra could feel the pressure pulsing from the shard. Such a puny thing, she thought, seeing how it took up little space in the box.

“Take it,” said Sulaer, “It won’t burn you. Surprisingly.”

The green-and-purple shard fit neatly in Syra’s palm and was warm. Very warm. Like a fire before you got too close. And Syra could feel her body gulping down the mana it radiated, to the point of becoming dizzy.

“Be careful not to drink too much,” Sulaer said, placing the crystal back into its box and latching it, “You’ll overload yourself and end up with a horrible headache.”

Syra nodded and stepped back from the box, its heat fading from her skin, “What should I do now?”

A wide grin cracked across Sulaer’s face and she handed Syra a notebook, freshly bound, “Play with it.”

“Play with it?” Syra repeated, “Isn’t that what caused this whole mess in the first place?”

“And it’s the only way to get us out of it. Like you said, work backwards. You have the notes, supplies, and now the power source. I expect an update every other day, and do try not to blow anything up—this is the last room left. I’ll keep my study door open if you have any questions, and I’ll update you if I find anything new.”

And like that, Syra was left to wilds of alchemical discovery, with a hurried vocabulary list and 150-year-old ramblings of a Talian hermit. If there was ever a magical exam to be passed, it was this one.

A week passed with Syra mired nose-deep in parchment and potions, but book after book, trial after trial, she still hadn't made any leeway outside of singing her eyebrows. And other than at mealtimes, she hadn’t seen nor spoken to Aidan or the twins. Any attempts were met with, “How’s the cure coming?”, “Find anything?”, or the more common, “Just focus on getting the shard so we can go.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have minded being left to her devices in solitude, but normally she’d have someone to turn to for help, be it a teacher or classmate. Even Aidan had clever solutions sometimes. But despite her original promise, Sulaer busied herself in her own readings and research, many times disappearing for hours all together. It was that sort of day when Syra went to her balcony for a quick rest.

The balcony off her hallway faced over the terrace towards the city’s center. She could see the Playhouse with its patrons, and beyond that a training field, and a flower garden with a small pond. She watched from this spot as Cassius and Petra trained one-on-one in combat—Wyn had insisted that if they were to stay until a cure was found, they might as well learn to be useful. They were getting better, and Syra found it a relaxing distraction from the dim cave and strong smells and words that blurred together. But there was something off about that scene that day. An uneasiness that drew her attention from the twins to the small bench by the pond. A bench where Aidan sat, too comfortably, next to Sulaer in her satin dress with her big books.

Syra’s stomach dropped. They were laughing. She waved the thought away as quickly as it came, but the cold knot in her gut told her to keep watching. Sulaer pointed to the book Aidan was reading—Syra’s book—and he smiled. He smiled that smile where his forehead creased and his eyes glinted from behind that mask of smart sensibility he always wore—a smile she had not seen since the festival. But this time it wasn’t for her.

There were more laughs, more smiles, more flicks of the hair. There was always more, and Syra had to break away from the balcony before she broke herself. She returned to the lab, in its quiet, dim solitude, but her mind was now a blur and she felt the prodding of nausea. Just ignore it, she thought. We’ve all been stressed and he deserves a nice break. Even if something did come of it, halflings weren’t all that rare—there was one in her Runes class after all.

She forced herself to continue working, throwing herself into the scripts and charts and diagrams of old, looking for any missing piece or glint of hidden meanings. But nothing helped. Her mind kept returning to the image of Aidan smiling with Sulaer, and she continued to return to the balcony where any sight of him numbed the grief left to fester.

More days went by like this. And the more she looked for evidence of their relations, the more she found: more hours in the garden, more exchanged gazes at meetings, more whispered giggles at the dinner table. Many times she started to tell Cassius of her troubles. Hoping that, perhaps by purging them, she could lessen the ache that gnawed away at her and made her world dim and gray. But she never could.

She'd watch from her balcony as he and Petra found confidence in their two-legged fighting skills: their weapons becoming lighter and swifter, until a swing and twirl were second nature. No, he had his own problems to deal with. Certainly, he had dealt with hers far too much at this point. This was something she had to bare on her own. And that just made the ache deeper.

She was returning from her time on the balcony—which had become a bit of a habit—when a low rattle came from one of the rooms a few doors down from the lab. The door stood slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Ristau slumbering wide-mouthed at his desk. She went to walk onwards down that hall, but the mortar and pestle atop his desk called her back. Ristau had those at the Playhouse, she thought, recalling their first meeting. She had been curious about this "Down" they spoke of, but never found the chance to ask.

Please don't squeak, she begged the door as she pushed it open with a fingertip. She took a step into the room and paused, watching Ristau for any movement, but he snored on with his head rested back against his chair. Padding over to the desk, she examined the dusty bowl and the small bag sitting open next to it. Again, she glanced over at Ristau, but he continued to dream with a slight grin on his ruddy face. He looked so calm and happy. Did Down affect dragons the same way it did Tal?

Then she reached for it, plucking it by the drawstrings. It was the swift, heavy hand that made her jump.

"Careful, milady," Ristau said, fully awake and gripping both her hand and the bag in one large hand, "That's a slippery slope you're treading on."

Syra looked down at the bag, but didn't move, "Does it help?" she asked in a small voice, "Will it make the pain go away?"

"No," he said, empathy softening the edges of his face, "but it will dull it."

He lifted his hand and she took the bag, clutching it to her chest, before turning to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, "Why are you—"

"The only thing that clouds the mind better than rage," he said with a solemn face, "is grief. And I need your mind to save my people."

She nodded, shut the door, and returned to her quarters where she drowned herself in pages, and the ache slid into its box and waited.

It was Cassius who found her.

"Syra!" he exclaimed in a whisper when he entered later that night to find her dazed and lopsided in her chair. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sitting her up straight.

She mumbled something about a potion and needing to get back to work, and that's when he saw the dust specks under her nose.

"You're kidding me." He looked to her desk to find the bag open with dusting around its brim.

"It helps," Syra said, pulling out of her stupor and smiling up at him. "Well, at least until this groggy part. I think I might finally be on to something. I think I can—"

"Oh no," Cassius interrupted, putting a finger to her lips, "You're not telling me anything until you've sobered up." He picked her up from her chair and set her on the bed.

"But I'm fine, really!"

"Bashta!" he cursed, taking Syra aback by his sudden harsh tone, "You're pale, wobbly, and slurring your words, all things completely not you."

"I'll be fine so enough," she shooed his hand away from her forehead, "just...let me enjoy not feeling like shit for a moment."

Cassius stared down at her, his own face reddening, "How do you think Aidan would feel if he saw you like this?"

The mention of his name woke the monster inside the box, and Syra grimaced at the pin prick in her chest, "He has someone else to worry about now."

Genuine surprise flashed across Cassius’ face, “Who?!”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s sickeningly obvious.” She rested her head back against the headboard, tired of faking her cheeriness.

Cassius’ eyes searched his memories of the past few days before scoffing, “Well, it’s not Petra, I can tell you that right n—”

“No, you blind lizard. Sulaer!” She wriggled farther down into the bed and clutched at a pillow, “With her silky hair and library and big…womanly-ness.”

“You’re being silly.”

“I can’t compete with that, Cas,” Syra said, the sparkle gone from her eyes.

He sighed and looked away, unable to put his thoughts into words she would care to understand.

In the quiet, her grip on the pillow loosened and a wry smile bubbled to the surface as her mask slipped off.

“Though, I can’t really blame him. I’d squat for her if I were in his shoes.”

She chuckled and looked over at her brother who appeared a tad embarrassed by the subject.

“We’re all messed up, you know?” she said, gaining a raised eyebrow from him, “all three of us. Petra keeps pining after Tarys, who wouldn’t know she existed if she weren’t Vayguard. I’m going bat-shit over a human boy. And you…” She looked Cassius over with a slow, critical eye, and sneered when they landed at his neck. With a sly finger, she flicked the strands of hair away and slid it down across the light bruising just under his ear. “You go sneaking off to have a little fun with fairy boy when nobody’s looking.”

Cassius smacked her hand away and snarled, baring his teeth. But that didn’t stop him from flushing, or Syra from snickering.

“Hold your fire, I meant no harm. Hell, I might as well join you next time. First round’s free, right?”

For the first time since their reunion, she took a moment to study his human form: his slender face, toned shoulders, and firm chest that was just visible behind his unbuttoned collar. Her eyes stopped at the black marks that peeked out from under his shirt.

“Actually, while you’re here,” she leapt from the bed and snatched up a blank strip of parchment from her desk, “hold still for a second.”

“W-what are you doing?” He fidgeted as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I said, hold still.” She balled a fist and light shimmered around him, yanking him down onto the bed.

Running down the middle of his chest were black runes left from Valen’s spelltag. She pressed the parchment overtop.

“Just relax,” she cooed and traced the markings with smooth strokes of a finger until they burned onto the paper. “Perfect,” she said, admiring her work.

“What’s that for?” Cassius asked, scooting away and buttoning his shirt.

“I told you, making progress.”

The two stood there silent and Syra looked from him to the door, “You may go now. I’m sure fairy boy is waiting for you.”

“What is with you?!” Cassius growled with true, but scorned, concern. “I’d expect this kind of attitude from Petra, but not from you!”

“Then you obviously haven’t been in my head long enough.”

“I think I’ve been there too long,” he said, standing from the bed. “Come find me when you’re not such a graga.”

He left her side but stopped in the doorway, “Sulaer’s already engaged, by the way. But you would know that if you got your head out of your ass and actually listened to people.”

The next morning brought Syra a splitting headache and a visitor.

“So, did you hit the books, or did the books hit you?” asked Ristau from her desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“That’s not funny,” Syra said, massaging her temples.

“Yes, it is. And what’s even funnier, is that I was woken up by your brother lecturing me about keeping you sober.”

“He told you?!”

“Of course, he did. Who else does he know with access to this?”

He snatched the bag of Down from her desk.

“Hey, wait, don’t!” She sprang upwards and gripped at the air towards the bag, “I need that.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking a finger, “One: this is mine. Two: it was my mistake for giving it to you in the first place.”

“But you use it all the time.”

“Yes, and I know how to keep my head up and my mouth shut. Not spitting venom at anyone who shows the least bit of concern.” Grief softened his eyes, “He’s your brother, Syra. And the only one you’ll ever have. Never take that for granted.”

She would have retorted, but the Down had left her system and the words she spoke last night burned her tongue worse than the dry-mouth. She groaned and hung her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said, riffling through her papers, “I certainly wouldn’t believe you.”

His words hit hard, and she remained silent.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” He paused his shuffling to look right at her, “You knew better. And I know you knew better because you wouldn’t have said those things otherwise.”

Syra had no excuse to give. Every one that popped into her head she could reason away as being callous, petty, and downright pitiful. A bitter, self-centered brat wallowing in self-pity, that’s what she had shown herself to be. So this is what Aidan meant by ‘mopiness’.

“What is this?” Ristau broke Syra out of her self-reflection as he looked down on a spelltag similar to the one she had copied from Cassius last night. The runes were different and more complicated, but the structure was the same.

“Progress.”

“No-no,” he said, pounding a finger on it, “this isn’t a counter-spell. This is a shapechanging spell.” He leered over at Syra who met his gaze with confidence, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious, and all I need now is a power source,” she said. “Plus, it made me realize something about Caelus’ spell, and why our attempts keep failing.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That we’ve been going about it all wrong, for starters. But I can’t really get dressed and to go tell everyone with you standing here, now can I?”

Ristau begrudgingly put the spelltag back on the desk.

“Thank you. Now, shoo-shoo. Go and bring everyone to the lab.”

The seats around the lab table were filled by the time Syra arrived, and all waited anxiously for her news. To her disappointment—but of no surprise—Aidan took the seat next to Sulaer, who watched her enter with both nervousness and excitement.

“So, what did you find?” Sulaer asked, almost bouncing in her chair, “What’s this ‘realization’ Ristau was talking about?”

Syra pushed her insecurities aside and plopped a thick notebook on the table, opening to Sulaer’s cliff notes on the powering of Caelus’ spell and its general make-up.

“Lanis,” she said, looking to the king who was deep in thought, “when we first got here, you said that Kor Lahru’s mana spring ran down here, right?”

“Correct, it does.”

“You then said that you believed this to be a reason why the disease isn’t progressing—why the Lower Tal aren’t getting any worse.”

“Yes—”

“You’re wrong,” she said, inciting tension around the table, “At least, I think you’re wrong.” She pointed at little Leimia who sat quiet by his side, “You are getting worse. Every generation is getting worse. You said that children born here suffer worse deformities if they survived at all.”

“Again, correct, but what is your point?”

“I think it’s the mana spring that’s making them worse, and why we can’t find a cure.”

Sulaer looked confused, but intrigued and motioned for her to continue.

“We thought all the conditions had to be the same for the spell to be reversed. But you can’t counter a curse using something that it draws power from. You’ll only be feeding it,” Syra explained. “Caelus’ spell was powered by the shard—a huge source of mana—so would it not make sense that the disease is also powered by mana?”

“The mana spring is feeding the disease,” Sulaer hushed, growing pale.

“Yes, just like using the shard in our trials stops any counter-spell from working. We’ve been trying to swim upstream.”

“So, we do what, exactly?” Aidan asked.

“Stop using the shard, for one,” said Ristau.

“Not just that,” Syra said, setting a second book on the table and flipping to a sketch of an Arrun tree. “We have to starve it.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aidan asked Syra as she devoured tome after tome searching for any instructions on how to create a mana-draining potion. “Don’t Tal need mana to survive?”

“Not necessarily,” said Ristau, who also joined in on the search party. “Unlike Fae or dragons, we’ve separated from the Mana Flow over time. So, while draining our reserves will severely weaken us, it will not kill us.”

“But you could run the risk of the disease killing us while our bodies are too weak to fight off the infection,” said Lanis. He and Leimia had a tower of books each to themselves that had already been looked through.

“So, we’ll just have to kill the infection before it kills the patient,” said Syra. “Do you have any information on any known cures?”

“Before we get to that, let’s focus on weakening the infection first,” Sulaer said, nose-deep in her own stack.

Aidan looked around at everyone sitting in a sea of parchment, their eyes red from hours of scouring—even Petra was making progress.

He sighed, “I think I know how to make one.”

All heads looked up from their pages.

“You tell us this now?” Petra yelled.

“I wasn’t sure if it fit what you were looking for, and I’m honestly not proud of it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Syra.

“Dragonlances,” he said, meeting her gaze, “they’re tipped with a poison made from the bark of the Arrun tree. If concentrated enough, it can kill any magical creature…even dragons. That’s why we use them.”

Syra bit her lip, “And you know how to make this poison?”

“I helped invent it.”

Syra, Petra, and Cassius all stared at him shock.

“Those arrows were made by you?!” Petra growled.

“By my alchemists, yes.”

“We lost clan members because of you!” Petra screamed and Cassius had to hold her back from lunging at him.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flown so close!” Aidan spat back, “Just stayed way up in the mountains where you belong!”

Tension grew with the silence, and Aidan lowered his head, “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say.”

“No, you meant what you said.” Tears formed in Petra’s eyes and she shot to her feet, knocking over her stack of books, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you along! You’re no different than Marrak, or Larson, or any of the other Black Thorn members! Only caring to act when it suits you best. And to think I was starting to trust you.”

“Petra, I’m sorry. I take it ba—”

“Bashta!” she cried, spitting at him, “You’re just a lowly pink worm. Altaira’s doomed with a king like you.”

With that, she stormed off, leaving the rest to sit and simmer in her wake. Cassius went to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look at Aidan. And the four Tal could only watch on as outsiders.

“Where we belong?” Syra finally asked, looking to him, “After what you’ve seen your own people do, you still see us as monsters? Even as we sit here trying to help another race?”

“It’s a hard habit to break, Syra,” Aidan admitted, “Those roots run deep and I…I just need time to let them die.”

“More time, huh?” She shook her head and closed her book, standing, “Unfortunately, time is something we don’t have. Marrak is moving, and we don’t have time to wait for your scars to fade. We need to know that we can still trust you.”

“Of course, you can!”

“Good. Now, get to making that vile poison of yours and I’ll look into killing the infection for good. Sulaer?” she asked, turning her attention away from Aidan, “Are these all the books you have?”

“No, just the ones we know with relevant information. There’s also the Grand Library below the academy.”

“A Grand Library?” asked Cassius.

“Yes,” Sulaer nodded, “Omei has the largest library in all the realms and, to be honest, there are scrolls there that even I haven’t read yet.”

“Take me there,” Syra said, her face steeled against the screams and tears that begged to burst out. “We might be able to find more clues on how to kill this thing.”

“Sure. There’s a whole section on all our medicinal advances.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Syra went to follow Sulaer out of the lab, but stopped abruptly, “And Aidan?”

Aidan looked up at her, guilt plastered on his face.

“Where I belong, is my choice.”

Down into the depths of the mountain they went, spiraling down the main staircase. The roots of Mother Tree still reached even this far down, and lit their way past floor after floor. The Medicinal Section was located on the seventh floor and took up most of the sixth wing that branched off of the main staircase.

“So, this is even bigger than the Sylvani library?” Syra asked in amazement.

“Just by a floor, but I still like to brag about it,” said Sulaer.

“Just looking at all these books makes me want to fall asleep,” said Petra. She and Cassius had joined Syra after Petra decided that she’d much rather read than be stuck in a room with Aidan.

“We can’t nap now,” Syra said. “Not until we have a solid plan, at least.”

“Here,” Sulaer said, leading them to sit around a wide, round table off in a cozy nook with a small plant as its centerpiece, “have a seat. I’ll warm us up.”

Carved from stone and far from the warmth of the city, the Grand Library held a chill. The siblings sat about the table while Sulaer fiddled with the plant. She peeled back the cone of leathery leaves to reveal a rather plump bulb. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them, as if they were cold. Faint green light appeared between them and she wrapped them around the bulb. In seconds the bulb glowed and then unfurled, releasing a wave of warmth into the nook.

“Much better,” said Sulaer, turning back to the bookshelves, “now where to start?”

Book after book they read until their stomachs growled, but still they did not find a solution.

“What about this one?” Petra asked, sliding the open book over to Syra.

“Nope, not that one, either.”

“Ugh!” Petra groaned and laid her head on the table, exhausted and hungry, “I thought you said we could find cures down here.”

“These are cures,” said Sulaer, “they just all require some addition of mana, and that’s the opposite of what we need.”

“Well, we can’t stay here forever. Even you said you haven’t read all of these. How are we supposed to?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wonderful.” Petra closed her book and left to return it back to the shelf. As she slid it back into place she screamed, dropping the book and making Syra and Cassius run to her.

“What is it? What happened?”

“What is that?” Petra pointed an accusing finger and grimaced at the fat grub waving its pincers at them from the shelf.

“It’s…it’s a worm,” Syra said, puzzled. “Sulaer, why is there a worm down here?”

“You are underground, remember?” said Cassius.

“That’s a bookworm,” Sulaer answered, laughing.

“Like, the kind that eat books?” Syra recalled hearing talk of them in Altaira, but had never actually seen one.

“No, not exactly.” Sulaer reached over and scooted the worm into her palm, and Petra quivered in disgust. “They eat their memories.”

“Come again?” Cassius asked.

“All the memories of all the people that ever read it, even the author. It takes a lot of energy to write a book, and even more is invested by those who pour themselves over one. And it’s these little fellas that hold on to that energy in the form of memories.”

“So, you’re saying these worms hold the memories of all the books in here?” Syra asked.

Sulaer took a moment to answer, “Depends on their age, but yes, it wouldn’t surprise at all.”

“Can I see it?” Syra asked, taking the worm from her hand and running back to the table.

“Don’t put that thing over there!” cried Petra, “I sit there!”

“It’s not going to bite you, Petra,” Syra said, setting it down on the table, “I don’t think.”

Syra took out a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag on the table and began writing.

“A locator spell?” asked Sulaer surprised, looking over her shoulder.

“If that worm has memories of the information we need, then maybe I can find the book it got it from.”

Sulaer watched her hands fly over the paper, her strokes a tad sloppy in her hurry.

“Don’t rush,” she said, stopping her hands a moment, “it won’t work as well.”

Syra nodded and continued with slower, more precise marks. The script wound around the borders and spiraled inward until only a blank spot was left in the center.

“Now you just need a purpose,” said Sulaer.

Syra hesitated. This was always the hardest part. She could learn spells fine, but creating one had always been a hurdle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted and hoped the words would come. And then she wrote.

Locate the tome,

your only quest.

And bring me thither,

At my behest.

The bane of plagues,

it acts alone

To restore the body

And make it whole.

“Not bad for your first try,” Sulaer said. “Now what?”

Syra picked up the worm and placed it on the page. She balled a fist, charging it.

“Sorry about this,” she said, pointing a finger. She tapped her fingertip to the worm and a spark of electricity jolted the worm, causing it to seize and spit up the juices from its gut onto the paper.

“That’s just disgusting,” said Petra.

“It’s magic,” Syra replied, scooting the poor grub off to the side.

“Nothing’s happening,” Cassius said, watching the paper.

“I’m not done.”

Sulaer took a pin from her pouch and handed it to Syra, who pricked her finger and pressed it to the page. The words shimmered as light traced along the spiral of ink until it came to the center. Please, work, she thought, but nothing happened. The page still glimmered, but did not move. Syra bent over the paper, analyzing it to see what she could have done wrong, stopping at the small glob of blue liquid just outside the center lines. She blew on it, flicking the glob over into the center.

It sparked, and glowed, and the page twitched and ruffled. Then it started folding itself. Over and over, folding and twisting until it formed itself into a bird that flapped its wings and hopped about the table.

“You did it!” Sulaer rejoiced, gripping her shoulders.

“Well, look at that, you did!” Petra said, laughing at the paper bird, “What’s it supposed to do?”

Syra bent over the table and the bird stared up at her, beak to nose.

“Go,” she said, and the bird flew from the table into the air, fluttering on its tiny wings in circles above them.

“Where’s it going?” Cassius asked.

“To find the cure.”

#Heart Of Fire #dragons #fantasy #magic #sword and sorcery #elves #underground cities #spells #curses #romance #grief #breakup #drugs #amwriting #amwriitng #Fantasy Writing #ya fiction

3 notes · View notes

bxynjolf · 8 years ago

Text

really LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES.

repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !

TAGGED. @paternall (thanks daddy B) ) TAGGING. @ulfhrafnx, @mcrcer, @snowtorn / @summergilded, @necromantiia, @arepure, @ratholed, @mortedistelle, @wcrlike, @kismetfervor, @jadeiism, aaaand whoever else would care to do this thing! Just say your favorite thief tagged you. ;o

BASICS. FULL NAME : "Brynjolf” NICKNAME : Bryn, “Big Bad Brynjolf”, if you have a death wish “jolfy”. AGE : 38 BIRTHDAY : August 17th. ETHNIC GROUP : Nord? NATIONALITY : Nord LANGUAGE / S : Aldmeri, Dunmeri, (written) Dwemer, (written) Khajiit, common. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Heterosexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Heteromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : verse dependent; single or unfortunately married to work/@mcrcer. CLASS : Lower class HOME TOWN / AREA : Riften ! CURRENT HOME : Riften (moved back after some years) PROFESSION : Full time Second-in-Command of the Skyrim Thieves Guild, part time “merchant” of “exotic wares” (conman).

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Deep auburn. EYES : Emerald green, sharp. NOSE : Long, slightly crooked, and proud. FACE : Strong jaw, defined cheekbones, trimmed facial hair. LIPS : Chapped, full. COMPLEXION : Pale. BLEMISHES : Faint freckles spattered across his arms and over the bridge of his nose. SCARS : One right across his cheek, a few scattered along his back, and various nicks across his hands and fingers. TATTOOS : One; the Thieves’ Guild insignia on his right shoulder blade. HEIGHT : 6″1-6″2. WEIGHT : 155 lbs. BUILD : Lean. Tall. Underweight, but broad shouldered. FEATURES : Encouraging, sloping smile, bright eyes, arched brows. ALLERGIES : prison. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Combed and kept down; he will occasionally wear it up too, usually in the fashion of a messy man bun or sloppy braid. USUAL FACE LOOK : Tired, eager (opportunistic), alert. USUAL CLOTHING : Thieves Guild armor; if not the Guild armor, he’ll don noble attire in colors that compliment his features.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Failing the Guild, losing one of his own/recruits, bankruptcy, poverty, the savage stereotypes of the supernatural (not a fan of vampires). ASPIRATION / S : To bring the Guild back to its former glory, (later) to fill their Vaults brimming with wealth, to establish client connections in other regions such as Morrowind or Cyrodil, and secure relations with other (successful) Thieves Guild/Dark Brotherhood sanctuaries. POSITIVE TRAITS : Loyal. Caring. Hard working. Optimistic. Persevering. NEGATIVE TRAITS : Stubborn. Selfless to a fault. Dishonest. Talkative. MBTI : Protagonist personality (ENFJ, -A/-T) ZODIAC : Leo TEMPERAMENT : Sanguine, according to this test ! SOUL TYPE / S : The Helper. ANIMALS : Rat. Dog. VICE HABIT / S : Drinking. FAITH : Atheist; later, Nightingale/servant of Nocturnal. GHOSTS ? : No thank you. AFTERLIFE ? : Unfortunately, yes. REINCARNATION ? : He has to; he’s bound to serve Nocturnal once he’s passed. ALIENS ? : No. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Verse dependent; largely neutral. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Wealthy. He’d love to own a proud residence of his own within one of the larger cities; it could act as an additional base for Thieves/Thieves in training plus provide underground escapes for those caught within that city! Also, he’s fond of the simpler if finer things; solid, sturdy, polished steel in place of the bargain bits he picks up, new fabrics, fresh clothes, etc. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Verse dependent. EDUCATION LEVEL : none.

FAMILY. FATHER : Alive. Best forgotten, in his opinion. MOTHER : Deceased; passed when he was 10. SIBLINGS : none. EXTENDED FAMILY : none. NAME MEANING / S : Old Norse given name, a combination of Old Norse bryn, from brynja 'coat of mail, armor, protection'. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : none.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Fall of the Snow Prince MOVIE : 5 SONGS : DEITY : None. Nocturnal HOLIDAY : No particular favorite! MONTH : Hearthfire. SEASON : Autumn. PLACE : Riften. WEATHER : Cool, mild. Ideally, a clear, sunny day with a slight chill. SOUND : Silence. The clink of coins. The quiet shuffle of paper. SCENT / S : Cinnamon and sugar, crisp pine, fresh air. TASTE / S : Sweetrolls, buttered potatoes, rich broths, savory meats. FEEL / S : Washed linens, buffed steel, untouched parchment. ANIMAL / S : Dogs. NUMBER : 17. COLOUR / S : Faded black. Murky tones. Bright green. Navy blue. Burgundy.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Multilingual. Writing. Observation. Socialization/making connections. Money savvy. BAD AT : Two-handed weaponry, shields, experienced hand to hand combat, abiding the law. TURN ONS : A job well done you sinners TURN OFFS : Mercer, assassination attempts, entitlement, offense/attacks against his own, insults in regards to his faction, snootiness, lethargy. HOBBIES : Reading, writing, nature walks. TROPES : AESTHETIC TAGS : Shadows. Murk. Gold. Hearty drinks. One-handed weaponry. GPOY QUOTES : "Sorry, lass/lad. I’ve important things to do. We’ll speak another time.”

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : Aragorn; LOTR. ( Viggo Mortensen ) ALT FC / S : Hozier is his modern faceclaim! OLDER FC / S : Nope! YOUNGER FC / S : Isaac Hempstead Wright is who I use for him when he’s a child. VOICE CLAIM / S : ROBERT ATKINS DOWNS. GENDERBENT FC / S : nah

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : ‘50 First Crimes’; a film that shows the progressive slope of criminal activities a young, Scottish male gets up to before finally settling at both the skeeziest and most secure criminal organization. Style? George Lucas. Soundtrack? Bagpipes. Fantastic movie idea? Absolutely. Q2 : What would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : A never-ending score of bagpipes all varying in pitches and tone. Sad bagpipes. Happy bagpipes. Bagpipes for sure, though. Q3 : Why did you start writing this character ? A3 : @mcrcer stated (on another blog of theirs) that they were debating whether or not to make their own Mercer blog. At the time, I didn’t think Elder Scrolls had a fandom, and since Brynjolf was one of the few characters I distinctly remember being fond of + my love for Guild companions, I decided on Brynjolf. The initial alternative was either going to be Farkas or Vilkas, the latter more likely than the former just because. Sassy werewolf. Honestly. It’s too great. Q4 : What first attracted you to this character ? A4: That accent tho. The fun of Brynjolf is that, despite being a canon character, there’s very little information on him? So, like with most canon characters I play, there’s a canon foundation that you can extrapolate from and develop, yet you can still make unique with your own thoughts. I also love that, regardless of your own character’s background or skill level, he’ll always hire you on. He recruits anybody. That’s unbridled opportunism at its finest!! Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : He’s quicker to take to talking rather than fighting. Though it’s worked out well enough in some cases, one of these days he’s going to either get tossed in prison or murdered for trespassing. Also, a substantial amount of obstacles could be easily resolved if he took to his brethren’s stereotype and just challenged them to a d-d-d-duel and bested them in battle, but alas. Firstly, he’s not the best come combat on equal grounds; secondly, he plays the business politics more than anything. Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : We both have a fabulous sense of style and poor choice in management. Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 :

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : @mcrcer is always a hoot. Their Mercer is delightful to aggravate, and then on the flip side, mellow out. All our interactions I cherish, but I especially like the ones where Brynjolf is an unfortunate middleman to an oncoming mayhem. @ulfhrafnx is also rad af because, not only are they the only Companion OC I’ve stumbled across, but their character is just??? So cool?? Legit. I’m weak. Our interactions thus far have been wonderful if only because I take the piss out of poor Brynjolf being caught by this fierce warrior lady. @summergilded / @snowtorn are also a peach; Khidell amuses Brynjolf on the daily, even if it later results in some lecturing from Mercer, and Cirion is yet another really interesting OC, particularly because it’s one of few threads where Brynjolf’s lowkey hobby comes to play. Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : You know why I keep on about bagpipes? When I write Brynjolf, I feel the best thing that helps me keep to his tone is by listening to several playlists of Celtic Rock/Bagpipes while perusing Scottish Twitter. Alternatively, seeing certain thief aesthetics or even listening to particularly upbeat music sparks a lot of muse for him!

#ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴅɪᴏᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ? | (ᴏᴏᴄ.)#ꜱᴏʀʀʏ. ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ. | (Qᴜᴇᴜᴇᴅ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ.)#bxynjolf

5 notes · View notes